


reminiscing of a life i had

by hearttpoem



Series: finally feel like me again [1]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Amnesia, Bisexual Lance (Voltron), Blade of Marmora Keith (Voltron), Female Pronouns for Pidge | Katie Holt, Fluff and Angst, I mean honestly i ship it, I’ll add more tags later, Love Letters, M/M, Miscommunication, Mostly Fluff, Mutual Pining, Temporary Amnesia, Why’d I just get recommended a thace x ulaz tag who is writing thalaz, but not really, ily!, lance’s birthday, like really bad pining, okay sorry this is for you Anna, probably, sorry in advance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-20
Updated: 2020-10-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:14:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 106,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26003254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hearttpoem/pseuds/hearttpoem
Summary: Keith hesitates, unsure of if he’s willing to trust these strangers, before deciding he probably has nothing to lose. That maybe if he complies with their questions and requests they’ll answer his questions as well, and he won’t be swallowed by his desperation for answers.“I remember Shiro. And getting into the Garrison. And...and,”Keith means to say “and tomorrow is Taco Tuesday.” At least according to Shiro. He’s been waiting all month for his first taco Tuesday after hearing Matt hype it up valiantly since he got into the Garrison nearly a month ago.But hearing his voice, actually listening to it, he realizes it’s a lot deeper than he remembers. A lot deeper than it’s ever been. Is he sick? He doesn’t feel sick. At least not in his throat. He feels a piercing headache and soreness in his ribs and limbs, but not a cold or flu.He looks down at his hands and gasps at what he sees. They’re huge! Okay, maybe not exactly huge. But they’re hard to recognize nonetheless. They’re calloused and uninviting and larger than he’s used to. They remind him of his dad almost.Okay, now he feels sick.
Relationships: Keith & Lance (Voltron), Keith/Lance (Voltron), minor Shadam
Series: finally feel like me again [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2139966
Comments: 38
Kudos: 195





	1. it starts right now

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you Anna for being so nice all the freaking time and motivating me to write this. I’ve actually had a lot of fun, so thank you for that. I guess take this as a late thank you for basically being what got me through sophomore year last year, I would've been a (bigger) mess without you!  
> Also sorry in advance for any mistakes I make? I literally have only ever watched each Voltron episode once and haven’t watched it since they did us dirt in season eight sooo...I don’t even know what timeline this would be in. Season four or five? A little before the space whale? But then again, fvck canon. 
> 
> Anyway, smooches and please enjoy! <3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith tries to blink away the overwhelming pain he feels, but it drowns him in a pool of excruciating agony. And then, the world goes black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you Anna for being so nice all the freaking time and motivating me to write this. I’ve actually had a lot of fun, so thank you for that. I guess take this as a late thank you for basically being what got me through sophomore year last year, I would've been a (bigger) mess without you!  
> Also sorry in advance for any mistakes I make? I literally have only ever watched each Voltron episode once and haven’t watched it since they did us dirt in season eight sooo...I don’t even know what timeline this would be in. Season four or five? A little before the space whale? But then again, fvck canon.  
> Anyway, smooches and please enjoy! <3

i.

Keith doesn’t realize it until it’s relevant to him, but for the first time in his life he’s excited.  
  
Okay, maybe not for the first time in his life. There was that one time Team Voltron visited the planet Karkamon, and their empress brandished all of the paladins with shiny new swords as a thank-you for liberating their planet. Or the time on Gasaltrov when the team got to ride around on Nespses, which were basically tri-pedal raptors. And of course there was always Taco Tuesday at the Garrison once a month. God, Keith misses Taco Tuesday.  
  
But even more so, like an infinite times more, Keith misses his team. And this weekend he gets to see them for the first time in what feels like forever. _Two days earlier than usual._  
  
Maybe that isn’t as big of a deal as Keith is taking it, but to him it’s everything. Though he’d never admit it, to himself and especially not the team, being a member of the Blade of Mamora is tiresome. And it’s not just the fact that there’s constantly something for him to do, whether that’s intel gathering or defensive missions or just training for hours on end.  
  
The tasking part isn’t the actual _tasks_ themselves. It’s the spaces in between- the infinitesimal but trialing gaps in his schedule where he’s reminded that he’s technically alone in space. As nice as his roommate is, furry tail and all, he could never make conversation with her without one of them getting offended, confused, or called to a mission in the middle.  
  
And that’s the _closest_ Keith has to companionship at the Blade base. All that’s left to him otherwise is stiff gray meals, perplexed or even annoyed stares when he makes an attempt at conversation, and disgruntled noises from Kolivan when he forgets. Forgets, even for half a decasecond, that he’s a soldier, that there’s no time to be human during a war, that the mission comes before all. Keith forgets these things pretty often, even though they’re why he stepped down as Black Paladin to begin with.  
  
Which is why it’s no wonder that several months after Keith joins the Blade, it becomes prevalent that Keith is a lot more human than he had originally accounted for. That even after a lifetime of suppressing feelings and pretending he was rock-solid without that soft center that eats him up at night, he wasn’t strong enough to grit through the pain all the time. (Or maybe it took the greatest strength of all for him to admit he was in pain to begin with.)  
  
So following a painstakingly honest conversation or two with Team Volton after a near-death experience that was just a little too near for anyone to be comfortable with, Keith gives in and a plan is arranged for Keith to get to spend every other weekend at the Castle of Lions.  
  
“To, ya know, recharge,” Lance had explained to Kolivan dutifully at the meeting he’d insisted was of utmost importance. Kolivan had grimaced while Lance looked at Keith sideways, holding an expression that was unreadable but fully laced with something.  
“It’s important that humans get optimal social interaction from their companions regularly,” Pidge had added on, nodding sagely but passing smiles to Keith in between words.  
  
“Or they could die,” Hunk had finished with such a vexed expression on his face that even Keith was starting to believe what was being said.  
  
“And it’s not like he won’t be here helping either. There’s always plenty of supply loads and diplomacy meetings he could tend to with us,” Allura had finished, her words directed toward Kolivan but her eyes shining at Keith.

After that Kolivan relented Keith to weekends with Voltron, although begrudgingly and not without conditions. But that was enough for all of them.  
  
Keith could read it on all of their faces, as they failed to hide their excited smiles when Kolivan agreed to their idea. And the team’s elation was only solidified when the entirety of the Castle of Lions’ population smothered Keith in a hug and immediately began making plans for the upcoming weekend.  
  
“I can’t believe you guys would go through all that trouble for me,” Keith had thought aloud as they all walked him back to his pod, wanting to make the most of their time with him as if they’d never see him again. And maybe they wouldn’t see him again, so upon hearing Keith’s admission everyone paused and looked at him oddly.  
  
But it was Lance who had spoke up first.  
  
“Um, dude, we’d go through hell and back for you. You’re part of the team and we want you here.”  
These words had taken Keith aback for a moment, and even more so when the rest of the team agreed in their own ways. Allura had complained about her braid trains with Pidge and Lance being incomplete without Keith in the front, Hunk insisted he needed a taste-tester that he knew would be unashamedly honest and wouldn’t eat his creations before others could have a serving, Coran commented on how he missed having someone who would quietly listen to his stories and could help clean the castle without protest, and Pidge mentioned Lance wasn’t half as good of a test-subject for her experiments as him and she needed a worthy opponent in ‘Kill-Bot Phasm’. And Shiro plainly explained he missed his brother.  
  
“Besides,” Lance finished. “This is entirely for our own personal gain. Even if you didn’t miss us, we miss you like crazy. We need you here. I need you here.”  
  
He had said this with a flourish, admitting the last sentence quietly for only Keith’s ears as he loosely hung an arm over Keith’s shoulders and it had filled Keith with _something_. The same something that Keith had read on Lance’s face, though he still couldn’t identify it.  
  
But he decided he liked it. It made him feel happy and like he belonged. To Team Voltron, to his friends. To his chosen family.  
Which was, decidedly, enough for him.  
  
It was _more_ than enough, actually. After that meeting with Kolivan, every other weekend turned out to be the highlight of Keith’s weeks.  
  
They usually included small things, like training sessions with Shiro or cargo loads and data logging with Lance. Sometimes he helps Pidge and Hunk with one of their latest projects, or he works as a lab partner while Allura works on her alchemy. And at some point he even helps Coran with dinner or upgrading the castle. But it still satisfies Keith.  
  
And it’s the even smaller things that really solidify the team’s place in his life. It’s the high-fives over breakfast after managing to come up with something that _resembles_ pancakes, or the face masks and tea while watching a corny Altean rom-coms. Sometimes Keith comes straight to the castle after a particularly tiring assignment and crashes in the lounge, and wakes up to his head in a lap, his boots on the floor even though he doesn’t remember taking them off, and an inviting blanket over him. Or sometimes he wanders the castle after a particularly bad dream where he vividly sees all the fallen soldiers he’s had to leave behind in spite of his best efforts to play hero all the time. And he almost always finds his way to one of his teammates; whether that’s Allura sipping on tea in the kitchen or Pidge in the lounge coding or Lance on the observation deck star-gazing under a bundle of blankets. And every time they scooch over for him and make sure he knows he’s welcome to sit with them. They tell him what’s on their mind because they know better than to press Keith about what’s eating at _him_. And all these things neatly pressed together like preserved flowers in a book make Keith feel warm and grateful. It fills him with that something he’s started to get used to, and he wouldn’t have it any other way.  
  
But this weekend is different. This weekend is special. Because it isn’t just cargo loading or training or naps in the lounge. For the first time ever, Keith has a _plan_. He’s saved up his gac and made fleeting pit-stops at merchant shops in preparation for this moment. He’s bought gifts, plural, and has found the ingredients for a cake he knows he wants to make with Hunk. This is a big deal.  
  
So, yeah, Keith’s excited. He’s excited about this weekend because he finally gets to be with his family. _Earlier than usual_. And he gets to celebrate his favorite person. (Not that he believes in playing favorites.)  
  
It had been a demanding task to get Kolivan to allow Keith to take off of his duties for an extra days. He knew he was already pushing it as is. But that weekend was important to him, and he explained such the best he could.  
  
“Have you heard of birthdays?” Keith had asked Kolivan once he got the chance a month ago, doing his best to mask the nervousness in his voice.  
“No,” the Blade leader had replied flatly, and Keith resisted sighing.  
  
“Well, it’s this really important human tradition that we celebrate every year. And one of the paladins has theirs in about a month so...I’d like to be there to spend it with them.”  
  
Technically Lance’s birthday fell within their usual schedule, and didn’t require Keith to take off any extra days. But somehow he’d given himself the idea of surprising Lance a few days earlier and become dead-set on it.  
  
It took some coaxing, and stipulations were made, but eventually they had been able to come to an agreement.  
  
“This paladin must be very important to you,” Kolivan had said, his voice empty of anything. Had it been anyone else, Keith would have gotten defensive. But he knew that it was only an observation- a fact. And the words filled Keith with that something again.  
  
It was that something, an unidentifiable part of Keith’s daily life, that gave him the motivation to continue his daily missions without complaint. One of Kolivan’s terms of agreement had been Keith doubled up on everything, whether that be extensive missions or training, as to ensure his upcoming plans weren’t a distraction from the task at hand. (With the task at hand being the impending war, of course. The task at hand was always fighting a war.)  
  
And these extra long missions and particularly demanding training sessions were costly. Keith grew even wearier than usual, with his face growing shadows and hollowness framing his already defined features. His sleep was bodied in half and his meals suddenly couldn’t provide him enough energy for him to keep up with his grueling schedule. As if the already draining night terrors he had of him losing what little he had- his life, his team, his place in the never ending universe- weren’t bad enough, now he barely even had the time to sleep and have nightmares to begin with.  
  
“You look terrible, little one,” his bunk mate had observed from her bed, with a swish of her tail and a worried stare from all four of her eyes.  
But this was fine with Keith. This was more than fine. Because sooner than later, there was only one mission left before Keith’s long weekend. And Keith was excited.

\- -

There are some things that you just don’t admit. That you just don’t let leave your tongue, no matter how much it bites and pinches at you and won’t leave your head. Keith isn’t exactly afraid of ‘I-told-you-so’s’ or the disappointed faces of those who try to warn him of the things that he actually should be afraid of. It’s just that Keith is cagey and determined and resistant.  
No matter how much time he spends with Team Voltron, no matter how soft he gets from baking with Hunk or pillow fights with Pidge and Lance, he’s still unwilling to let on when he’s in need.  
  
So, it really only makes sense that Keith doesn’t take heed of his roommate, Somansi, when she warns him of his condition upon seeing him after his latest mission.  
  
“Little paladin, you’re bleeding,” she comments, used to seeing Keith hurt but still uncomfortable with seeing him track droplets of blood across their small shared quarters.  
  
“Yeah, last mission was a bit of a close call,” Keith admits quickly, only half-heartedly paying her any mind.  
“You should take some time to rest and heal. Perhaps prepare a pod if there’s one available?” Somansi adjusted her large foot hanging over the top bunk of their bed, swinging it back and forth. It kind of bothered Keith how relaxed she was while he was just a bit on-edge.  
  
“I’m fine.” Keith was, by all means, not fine. But he had just come back from his mission- an infiltration of a nearby base that held details of possible future heirs of the Galran throne now that Zarkon was dead and Lotor was an enigma that nobody could really pinpoint, physically or otherwise.  
  
It was supposed to be more of a waiting game than anything else, with Keith going in and out at just the right moments without being detected, but he couldn’t wait for just the right moment. So he just chose a moment, and that was good enough for him.  
  
If his limbs were grazed by lasers and he was forced into combat with a few Galra sentries, then oh well. If he came close to getting his eyebrows blown off or he was currently a sporting a gash in his abdomen, then no biggie. He went in and out and got the info that was needed. And nobody died in the process, which was satisfying enough for Keith.  
  
So now he had to hurry to the Castle of Lions. Either before Kolivan demanded he attended the debriefing meeting or before his adrenaline rush tapped out Keith wasn’t sure. Maybe a little bit of both; maybe whichever happened first.  
  
Either way, he was in a rush.  
The only reason Keith had even stopped by the base in the first place was to pick up Lance’s birthday gift, and it’s not long before Keith eventually finds it in their small room and dashes out.  
  
“Little one,” Somansi calls out, and Keith spares her half a glance. “Say hi to your paladin for me.” She smiles with a cheeky spark in her eye that reminds him of Shiro teasing him, and suddenly he can’t get home soon enough.

\- -

By the time Keith reaches the Castle of Lions, after slipping out of the base and into a small pod, he wonders if maybe he should’ve listened to Somansi after all. He’s half worried that he might bleed to death, despite the gauze and bandages he’s wrapped himself in from the pod’s emergency supply, and has to steer stiffly to keep his bruising and bleeding skin from aching too much.  
He considers, as he calls up Pidge on the transmitter she had given him the last time they saw each other, if maybe he’s doing that thing that Lance had told him about a time that feels like forever ago. That thing where he gets stuck in his own head and forgets to consider his own health first.  
  
“I just wish you would, like, stop and remember that nobody wants you to see you hurt. It tears me up seeing you putting yourself at risk all the time. Being reckless isn’t heroic, it’s stupid,” Lance had said with a bitter bite in his voice after one particular mission went awry. The healing pod had patched Keith right up, but there seemed to be some not-so-physical problems that no healing pod could repair that had bubbled to the surface.  
  
The memory causes Keith’s stomach to ache beyond his wounds, and he’s grateful for Pidge’s face offering a distraction from his thoughts when she pops up on his monitor.  
  
“Hey,” he hums. He’s exhausted and in desperate need of a shower, but he can’t help the smile that creeps onto his features slowly as he briefly regards the green paladin.  
  
“You look like shit,” Pidge comments immediately, light refracting off of her glasses as she sits in a dark room assumingly in front of her laptop. Keith’s smile slips marginally, but he only rolls his eyes.  
  
“Whatever. Just open the hangar for me, will you? I’m almost there.”  
  
Keith doesn’t comment on it, but he feels his heart swell with something as delicate delight flashes across her features.  
“I thought you weren’t coming until tomorrow,” Pidge says while leaning forward. She’s the only one who knows that he’s coming early to surprise Lance for his birthday; partially due to her ability to find out everything that is or isn’t her business and partially due to the fact that he needed someone who he knew would be awake to let him in.  
  
All in all, Keith ultimately decides he’s grateful for Pidge and is happy that she’s glad to see him. Even if she’s trying exceptionally hard to fight off the smile on her face.  
  
“I kind of rushed my latest mission,” Keith admits sheepishly, and Pidge sighs. In the sort of I-Can’t-Believe-Keith-Is-Being-Keith-Again type of way that Keith has gotten used to.  
  
“Of course you did. Well, hangar’s open. See you soon.”  
  
Keith half expects her to add some snappy comment to the end of her sentence like always, being the cynical little sister he’s grown used to over the past few years. But she only smiles at him for a second more before hanging up, and before he knows it he’s landing in the castle ship’s hangar.  
  
The realization that she misses him just as much as he misses her settles in once he exits the cockpit of his cruiser, Lance’s gift in one hand and another hand on his sore stomach, and Pidge is there waiting for him and wraps her small arms around his middle.  
  
He makes an attempt to hug her back, slightly stupefied but glad all the same. But it serves to only make Pidge hug him tighter and he can’t help but yelp in pain.  
  
It’s at this that she pulls away and takes heed of the incision in his skin and, under closer speculation, the burns and bruises he’s suffering from as well. Keith doesn’t know it then, but he’s lucky the castle is under its night cycle and it's dark. If Pidge got to have a more thorough look at him, she would’ve lost her shit right then and there.  
  
“Dude, what the hell? You’re _bleeding_.” She grabs at his arm and makes note of his haphazard job at patching himself up. “You need to get into a healing pod right now.”  
  
She tries to sound stern, but Keith can’t quite take her serious while she has green lion slippers on. So he waves her off and begins to head for his room instead.  
  
“Don’t worry about me, I’m fine,” Keith insists. He knows he’s lying through his teeth, but he knows he might end up being in the healing pod for longer than he’d like. He doesn’t want to possibly end up spending half of his weekend with his friends unconscious.  
  
“Keith, c’mon. You could get an infection or worse if you just act like the Galra didn’t totally rock your shit.”  
  
He scrunches his nose up at that, turning to her with an indignant frown and crosses his arm. “They didn’t rock my shit, I got away alive didn’t I? Besides, I can’t go into a healing pod right now because it’d ruin Lance’s surprise if he wakes up and sees me half dead in a pod.”  
  
Keith feels bashful after admitting the last part, but ultimately decides he’s too tired to be shy. His adrenaline rush ran short half a varga ago and he’s about dead on his feet.  
  
“Lance isn’t even here right now. He’s on a touch-base mission with Shiro.”  
  
Keith frowns but continues to protest, insisting that he still wants to be able to properly surprise the other paladins about his arrival.  
  
The smallest paladin seems to let this ruminate with her for a while, standing still and not saying anything, before ultimately rolling her eyes to Olkarion and back with a shrug.  
  
“Fine. But at least use some healing serum and proper gauze in the medbay. You look like a mummy in those bandages,” she says, and Keith smiles.  
  
After this, it doesn’t take long for Pidge to delve into a fit of yawns and Keith demands she goes to bed. She claims she isn’t all that tired and wants to help Keith in the medbay, but he stands his ground and guides her to a room. And Pidge knows better than to try to get Keith to change his mind.  
  
So in the end Keith wanders to the castle’s medbay alone, harboring pain that Pidge is no longer there to distract him from. He wonders for half a tick if maybe he should’ve taken time in a healing pod after all, but decides he made the right decision.  
What if Lance comes back from his mission early? Or even worse, someone sends word to him that Keith got hurt and it distracts Lance from his duties? Not that Keith thinks he’s distracting…  
  
He flushes at the thought, as if his mind is an open book for the sleeping residents of the castle to read and he should be embarrassed.  
  
After that, he’s quick in trying to find the purple serum he knows Coran used on him once that refurbishes open wounds in a matter of doboshes.  
  
“I know I saw it around here somewhere…,” he mumbles to himself, irritated, as he sifts through cabinets and drawers. Apparently Coran has done some rearranging lately, or Keith’s memory is much worse than he’d initially accounted for. Either way, he spends what he feels must be forever looking for his ailment treatment before he finally spots it.  
  
At the top of the highest shelf.  
  
Keith curses to himself before making an attempt to grab at it, only for his tries to be futile. And then he curses a whole lot more when his waist and arms begin to protest in pain at his movement.  
  
There’s a lot of things that Keith refuses to admit. Like his first crush was Mothman, Hunk’s delicious Kaltenecker milkshakes make him gassy, or his hair is a little mullet-ish. But at the top of that list is that Keith is short.  
  
Well, short for someone that’s half Galra. Short where it counts. Somansi did call him “little one” for a reason, after all.  
  
And this minor (major) setback settled on Keith’s shoulders as his limbs ached and his abdomen throbbed. But Keith was resilient and determined; that’s what made him who he was. So his mom’s bogus genes weren’t about to be what stood in between him and possibly bleeding to death.  
  
Within a matter of moments, he had pushed one of the medical beds against the wall in front of the shelf where his remedy stubbornly sat, and he began to climb the bed in hopes of being able to climb atop it and reach for what he needed.  
Which works perfectly fine; until it doesn’t.  
  
In a matter of ticks Keith goes from reaching for the violet medicine, in its crystal-like bottle and sitting out of reach as if to mock him, and then his boot catches on the bed’s sheets and he slips and falls.  
Keith bangs his head against the bed on his way down with a smarting thud, and he takes a moment to try to recollect himself. As well as maybe stop seeing double.  
  
But then it’s at that moment that Keith’s luck decides to run dry. Perhaps it’s because he pushed his luck a little too far; in between him getting Kolivan’s permission to take a long weekend and scarcely surviving today’s mission, he’s probably tapped out on grace and mercy.  
  
Because while Keith is still trying to fight off the pain that’s now searing from his limbs, his stomach, and his head, the castle’s old shelf above his head decides to fall along with its contents- including the medicine that he’d originally been grabbing for.  
So yeah, things go from him being excited to him being bruised and scarred and having a shelf fall on him, along with a few miscellaneous serums breaking over his head.  
  
He moves out of the way a moment too late, as everything remaining clatters and splatters to the floor, but by then it’s too late.  
The former black paladin has already suffered more than enough damage he can withstand, and sooner than later the room around him begins to blend together.  
  
Keith tries to blink away the overwhelming pain he feels, but it drowns him in a pool of excruciating agony. And then, the world goes black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You gotta be a different type of dumbass to knock down a whole shelf. Keith is definitely that type of dumbass and no I will not take constructive criticism on that, thank you.  
> I’ll probably (maybe) have more posted tomorrow (8/20). Thank you for reading!


	2. wake me up when the days are over

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith wakes up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really don’t know about the timeline for this at all, it’s a sort of figure it out as I go sort of thing I guess. 
> 
> But here’s some playlists that I’ve been listening to while writing this chapter and chapter three:  
> https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3brFS2sf3RKXeXPFvCilmF?si=kwtCWeiXRxyV3whwWEOOvw
> 
> https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6hepZivhbd6FpyilMVnGrC?si=cM6xSg6pQkqLuWRfFtkO6Q
> 
> Also the title and chapter name(s) are lyrics from Haircut by Ryan Beatty!
> 
> Enjoy Anna :)

ii.

When Keith first awakes- when his eyes peel open just a sliver and his breath is a little unsteady rather than bated and even for the first time in who _knows_ how long- he can’t quite come to. Not fully, at least. 

There’s a pounding in his chest, with his heart hammering hard like an enraged animal on display in a glass case. And to match the thumping in his chest is his head, throbbing at speeds that Keith thinks might _actually_ kill him. (Assuming he isn’t already dead.) 

The pain is searing and slices through him like a freshly sharpened butcher’s knife. But somehow it worsens when his eyes find light. It serves to stab at him, hurting in more ways than one. 

And yet, in spite of the pain that eats away at him, Keith is able to make out just bits and pieces through his half-lidded eyes. He sees flashes of green, then yellow, then white and pink, and then...Nigel Thornberry?

Keith decides to give into the need to go under at that. Because he’s certain he must be dreaming. That this pain is going to devour him completely and he would rather allow that, in spite of how stubborn he usually is, than to hallucinate.

So he closes his eyes completely then, the sliver of light and the outside world vanishing. 

And then the world fades to black once more. 

\- -

A long time ago, when Keith was eight but he had the frame of maybe a six-year-old and his body fit him a little too snug, like a little girl’s Barbie princess glove on a grown man’s hand, Keith liked to hide in the woods. 

It went a little something like this: for all of Keith’s life he’s been a western baby. He’s sure that if you split him in half you’ll find rattlesnake juice and sand, because that’s all he’s ever known. Whether it be New Mexico or El Paso, Keith has been drifting and surfing the west side story of Northern America’s patchy deserts. But somewhere in between this, during a time Keith barely remembers, the soles of Keith’s boots met dirt instead of sandy rocks and fir trees instead of cacti. This time was spent in mideastern California, when his dad got a job offer that was too good to pass up. So his father packed up what little belonged to them from their pathetic flat, and they rode his dad’s forever-dusty truck to Pulga, California. Keith enjoyed the trip, though he was asleep most of the time, but he enjoyed the destination even more.

His dad rented a motel room that reeked of mildew and lost dreams, but he got to people-watch from the window and he counted how many people in red tops or cowboy boots or leather jackets passed by their room before he fell asleep every night. 

Keith doesn’t remember his time at school during those months, or maybe he does but those memories are repressed.

What he remembers is his time _after school_ in between the long hours of third grade lessons ending at two-thirty and his dad getting home long after Keith’s fallen asleep on their shared mattress. Keith played at the park with the kids that lived nearby to pass the time. Most of the time the boys from his class wouldn’t let him in on whatever they were doing, because he was the runt of his nonexistent family and always started fights. The only kids that didn’t mind his company were the first grade boys who were just as small as Keith was and were happy as long as somebody was there to build sand castles or make their Spock action figure talk. It wasn’t ideal, but it was far better than sitting alone doing nothing. 

But sometimes, on days when Keith believed that maybe God was real and had some sense of mercy and kindness, Ben Sanders would come to Keith’s rescue and make the other boys let Keith participate in whatever activity was on their juvenile agenda. 

Benjamin Sanders was, what Keith believed with absolute certainty, a god. By all means, he was your run-of-the-mill nine-year-old that spit in the grass and pestered his sisters. But he was also the kind of kid whose green eyes and dark hair made him likable, and his PTA mom and lawyer father made him important to the parents of the neighborhood. Thus making Ben Sanders important to the minors of Mayflower Elementary. So if Ben showed up to after school activities because his dad was running late to pick him up from school, and Ben decided he wanted Keith to play with him and his friends, then nobody was going to utter any protests. Because Ben’s Converses were covered in blue Sharpie drawings and he took Subway and Sunny-D to school for lunch, and you just don’t argue with a kid like that.

Games varied from catch the flag, to tag, to red-light-green-light, and more. But Keith’s favorite was always hide-and-seek. Because he liked to hide in the woods.

One Friday afternoon, at a little past three-something in the afternoon, Ben declared that he was going to be it and that everybody had to hide in the next thirty seconds. 

In moments, Keith had hidden himself in the woods behind the local park and tucked himself in a particularly thick log, where he disturbed some frogs that looked at him sideways. And Keith was excited because he thought that sooner than later, Ben Sanders was going to come up to his log and find him. 

He thought.

Keith doesn’t like this story, so he doesn’t think about it often- if ever. But when he does remember it, it slaps him like a pop quiz on unfortunate childhood trauma. Ben never came, and neither did any of the other boys form their game, yet Keith was sure they’d show up eventually. So he waited and waited; even when his stomach rattled fiercely and his skin grew icy cold and rain began to patter overhead. 

Keith doesn’t remember all the details of how he was found, but he remembers eventually coming out of his hiding spot and trying to find his way home only to get lost. He did his best not to panic, because his dad always liked to sing a song that went ‘ain’t no worries gon’ tear me down/ cause I’m made of brick in a sticks and stones town’ and he was sure that worrying would disappoint his dad. Even if he wasn’t there with him. 

But Keith couldn’t help but cry a little, his salty tears mixed with the rancid rain, because he felt so _lost._ He was stuffed into a bottle with no corkscrew in sight, and the glass walls were both caving and expanded rapidly in odd directions. He was sure that he was going to die like that; lost and isolated.

Somehow Keith eventually found his way to his father, dirty and traumatized, and his dad took him to the Waffle House everyday for a week in place for the therapy he probably needed. They could only afford one plate of waffles, but Keith got his own glass of orange juice that felt like a pulpy luxury, so it was all okay. 

Still, Keith was dog mad underneath everything and didn’t hesitate to stand up to stupid Ben Sanders the next time he saw him.

“You never found me, asshole,” Keith had snapped, gripping his ratty old backpack tightly and looking up at Ben’s upsettingly nice eyes with all the fury he could muster. Keith wasn’t even sure where he got the word ‘asshole’ (he thinks he might’ve heard it on MTV once at a neighbor’s house, but it could’ve been BET), but still Keith feels so sure in that moment. Like he’s on top of the world because he’s probably the first brat to ever stand up to Ben Sanders and his annoying Monday Marinara Meatball sub breath.

And yet, in just a split second, that feeling is gone. Ben’s next and last words to Keith are, “Who the heck are you?”, and Keith felt that horrible lost feeling all over again. But it was so much deeper now, because it was more of that icy isolation than anything else. All this time he’d thought that Ben genuinely cared about Keith participating in the after school games, but it quickly dawns on him that he’d got it wrong. Keith got to play not because Ben had taken the time to notice him and cared about him, but rather because involving everyone from their class in games was just who Ben Sanders was. It was the same reason Ben let kids hold his rarest _Yugi-Oh!_ cards and lended mechanical pencils to even the snottiest of second graders; that’s just who he was. But in the end Keith probably meant less to him than that of the average kindergartener. So after everything, Keith really was all alone. 

The realization caused this pool of regret and embarrassment and, moreover, misplacement to settle in the shallow end of Keith’s intestines. 

And once you’ve got that feeling, stuck to the bottom of your stomach lining like chewing-gum, it’s there forever.

Keith hasn’t felt that helpless in a while; he knows the feeling is there, and that it’s slowly been eating him up since that day in the third grade. However, it doesn’t wholly _consume_ him as much until Keith wakes up in the medbay for the second time.

When Keith awakes that second time, he stirs violently. As though he’s fighting with something not-so-physical that even _he_ isn’t aware of. Then, slowly like molasses dripping from biscuits, his eyes blink open. 

He doesn’t really register what he sees right away, either. 

First, before he can properly take in his surroundings, he hears noises. _Voices._

_“What if he’s dead? He was pretty banged up when we found him, even aside from his head. If he’s dead Lance is going to kill me!”_

_“You? He’ll murder me if anyone! And then he’ll find a way to resurrect me just so Shiro can kill me too! I should’ve forced him to get in that healing pod when I had the chance.”_

_“Paladins, calm down. I assure you he’s fine. I think…”_

_“You think?!”_

_“Calm now, everyone. His vitals are practically back to normal already, I am a medical professional after all. Let’s take a look and see, if you don’t believe me!”_

This is followed by footsteps of varying degrees, and suddenly Keith is all too aware of the presences near him. 

_“Look, see on this monitor here.His heart rate and blood pressure are already back to normal, I’m sure he’ll wake up in no time.”_

Keith must admit, the conversation seems interesting. He can’t help but wonder who the fuss is all about, and so he makes an attempt to sit up only to be met with a sharp scream.

“You’re awake!” a voice clamors, and Keith turns to find himself facing a large man with bulky shoulders and a large carriage that doesn’t at all match his kind face. Keith goes to ask questions- like what the _hell_ is going on- only to be cut off by a pair of bony arms grasping at him tightly.

“What the hell were you _thinking,_ you scared the shit out of me!” the arms’ owner exclaims. It’s not until Keith winces at the pain brought on by the tight embrace does the small figure holding onto him let go, and their face fills Keith with a fresh wave of confusion. 

“Matt?” he questions, and the Matt in question stiffens. 

He doesn’t recall Matt being so thin and wiry, or so short either. The eye bags he sees and pale, weathered skin don’t really ring a bell either. But the resemblance is uncanny- he’s never met a person with such amber eyes and course, cherry blond hair that frames a bird-like face that compares to Matthew Holt’s, Shiro’s best friend. 

There’s a silence that settles over the room after Matt takes a sharp breath, and a gentle hand meets Keith's shoulder. He flinches, despite the warmth the hand emanates, and he follows the hand all the way to the face of a woman with the deepest blue eyes he’s ever seen and faint pink markings that hug the apples of her sharp cheekbones. 

“Keith? Are you alright?” Her accent takes Keith aback, but the rest of the room sends him reeling even farther. 

He catches eye of a man that holds himself tightly and loosely all at once, his bright eyes laced with worry and harboring strange tattoos underneath, while his obnoxiously orange mustache is twirled around his finger.

Keith worries for a moment if he’s been captured. Or maybe he’s gotten himself into a cult somehow; that would perhaps explain the strange face markings. And then he curses to himself mentally, hoping this cult isn’t satanic or anything, because the last time he dabbled in witchcraft it was in an attempt to curse Iverson and Shiro had forced him to pray every night in repentance and remorse. He doesn’t think he can go through _that_ again. Especially because, if his memory serves him correctly, that wasn’t even a full week ago and he hasn’t properly recovered from the experience. 

“Do you know who we are, my boy?” the ginger man asks, and Keith is afraid there might be too much fear in his voice if he speaks so he simply shakes his head. 

“My name is Allura. Does that...sound familiar?” the woman beside him asks, as mellow as ever, and Keith shakes his head ‘no’ once more. 

Maybe his memory _doesn’t_ serve him all that well.

He thinks he sees tears forming at the corners of Matt’s eyes, and it’s such a strange sight to take in that he decides he better get to the bottom of what’s going on sooner than later.

“What’s going on? Who are you people?” he demands, his voice shaking only slightly. He doesn’t know where to look because he doesn’t feel like he really knows anyone in the room. No matter how familiar the small Matt feels or how kindly everyone speaks. 

“It’s just as I feared. He’s lost his memory,” the woman, _Allura,_ says and he can’t but feel slightly annoyed that his questions aren’t actually being answered.

He’s lost his memories? That can’t be right. Just yesterday he was at the Garrison, trying to beat his high score in Rayman on the old DS Adam had given him. How could he have gone to sleep fighting rabbids and wake up in a whole other room with people dressed like Star Trek reject characters? 

“What’s the last thing you remember?” the large man asks, his voice dripping with worry and his headband slipping over his brow. 

Keith hesitates, unsure of if he’s willing to trust these strangers, before deciding he probably has nothing to lose. That maybe if he complies with their questions and requests they’ll answer his questions as well, and he won’t be swallowed by his desperation for answers. 

“I remember Shiro. And getting into the Garrison. And...and...,” 

Keith means to say “and tomorrow is Taco Tuesday.” At least according to Shiro. He’s been waiting all month for his first taco Tuesday after hearing Matt hype it up valiantly since he got into the Garrison nearly a month ago. 

But hearing his voice, and actually listening to it, he realizes it’s a lot deeper than he remembers. A lot deeper than it’s _ever_ been. Is he sick? He doesn’t _feel_ sick. At least not in his throat. He feels a piercing headache and soreness in his ribs and limbs, but not a cold or flu.

He looks down at his hands and gasps at what he sees. They’re huge! Okay, maybe not exactly _huge._ But they’re hard to recognize nonetheless. They’re calloused and uninviting and larger than he’s used to. They remind him of his dad almost.

Okay, _now_ he feels sick.

“I think I’m gonna be sick,” he mutters, and sooner than later he’s tossing chunks in a waste bin that’s been so graciously handed to him. He hears talking around him, the voices of the strangers around him melding together for what feels like days, until the speaking stops and then it’s just one voice addressing him.

“Keith, I’m going to explain what happened, okay?” Allura says, her voice measured and kind. But Keith can’t help but still find everything so uninviting. Even as the ginger man kindly takes the waste basket from him.

“I’m Allura, and this is Coran, Pidge, and Hunk. We’re your friends.” She points with her hand to each character in the room as she names them, and Keith can’t help but watch “Pidge” feeling puzzled. But he can’t find it in him to question them either, because their face is harboring so much sorrow. He worries that if he so much as breathes in their direction improperly, they’ll cave in.

“Last night you got into a little accident, I guess you could say. And unfortunately, in between you hurting your head and the memory-erasing potion that spilled on you, you seem to be facing a mild case of amnesia.” 

Keith feels his head ringing with something dire, something urgent, like his entire body is trying to tell him something but his brain is incapable of making sense of the knotted messages he’s receiving. So the message, the words, the _narrative,_ goes straight to his stomach instead; only for it to come back up. And before he knows it, Keith is shooting chunks again. 

\- -

After an hour or two (Keith can’t really be sure, everything seems to be blending together, time especially), Keith believes he’s got a slightly firmer grasp of the situation he’s found himself in. At least enough so that he doesn’t feel like puking up the minuscule remnants in his gut every three minutes. 

It takes some time, and even more patience, but slowly his unfortunate condition is laid out in front of him like dinner on a silver platter. 

“We put you in a healing pod after Pidge heard you fall last night. We had hoped that this would eliminate you from any lasting injuries. But it seems as though, when you fell, you knocked down the shelf containing one of my latest remembrance experiments and it spilled. I put it out of reach in hopes to avoid a situation like this, but I suppose that was all for naught,” Allura explains with a petulant shrug, and Keith can’t help but avert his eyes. “However, assuming your injuries won’t cause any withstanding effects, the potion’s influence will only last a few days. I’m sure your memories will return to you sooner than later.” 

This served to settle Keith. Not exactly to satisfaction; there was no way to be satisfied with amnesia. At least not for him, a person who was already instinctively restless as is. 

But the idea that the feeling of loss burdening him would fade eventually gave him hope, and that was all the saving grace he needed. 

It’s decided, without Keith’s say so, that until his memories make their way back to him, the unconventional lot of people that surround him will fill him in on the last seven or so years of his life that he’s forgotten about. 

He’s caught up on stories about the Garrison, some of which don’t actually include him but fill in the spaces of when he apparently left and when he met the people before him. There’s tales of sentient robot lions and aliens, biases included and all, and Keith struggles to keep himself from getting lost in the mass of all of the words exchanged. 

But when the lengthy explanations of wars, and death, and magic, and his brother going missing start to bleed together, Keith can’t help but find his head swimming. Even the slightly warmer stories don’t give his racing heart a break; on the surface he smiles at the stories of his supposed teammates saving one another and the better days they spend touring the galaxy, but somewhere deeper he’s sinking at the thought of him _needing_ to be saved from giant sentry robots or lasers in his blind-spot. 

Through it all Keith pinches anxiously at his wrist, until by the time Hunk is catching him up on more recent events his pale skin is bruised into a yellow that’ll surely be a purple reminiscent of his alleged Galra ancestry. 

Keith is patient in listening to his current duties as a soldier to an undercover Galran spy agency dubbed ‘The Blade of Marmora,’ and where that leaves him with the people that surround his medical bed. But sooner than later he grows freshly weary as it dawns on him that he doesn’t even reside in the castle with these people; that he has duties elsewhere. 

“I suppose one of us should make Kolivan aware of Keith’s current state. In case he isn’t healed before his next assignment,” Allura voices, her voice bordering something curious and simultaneously grim. It sets Keith on edge, especially when she turns to the remaining members of the room and exclaims, “Not it!”

“Not it!”

“Hard pass!” 

“I doubt Kolivan would take kindly to the news coming from me, paladins,” Coran explains, once he realizes what just happened around him.

“Well _somebody_ has to tell Kolivan,” Pidge presses, adjusting their glasses, and Keith is speechless through it all because he’s not entirely sure what’s happening and still isn’t over Pidge’s uncanny resemblance to his brother’s companion. 

“How about we get Shiro to tell him?” Hunk suggests, seemingly desperate to avoid an inevitable conversation with the Blade leader. 

“Shiro?” Keith finally speaks up, leaning forward in his bed, and the attention is finally brought back to him. 

“Yeah, he’s still on that mission with Lance. Weren’t you paying attention?” Pidge questions. 

For the record, Keith _wasn’t_ paying attention. With so much information being thrown at him, all of it muddled together and not entirely chronological, it was hard for him to grasp onto just one thing. Onto _anything_ properly, really. The information he’s been supplied with is useful and essential- he knows- but some of it fell short on his ears, or got stuck in the tornado of his never ending string of thoughts so it never quite made complete sense to him. 

Even then, as an impromptu rock-paper-scissors contest is held to decide who has to deliver the upsetting news to Lance and Shiro, Keith isn’t even paying attention. Because at the mention of the name “Lance,” his entire body tenses and he suddenly feels fatigued and galvanized all at once. It’s as though his body knows something that he is lost upon, and he can’t quite catch onto what it is about a _name_ that triggers him with so much ease.

He thinks, in between all of the talk of the paladins of something called Voltron there was a mention of Lance; probably. But the words had poured into a greater pot of a bigger story, only to be whisked away with thick ingredients of the past five years. So any earlier acknowledgement hadn’t stuck out to Keith; not in the way it does now. 

Now the name pricks at his skin, making his dark hairs stand up on his arms and he leans back against his bed’s pillow. He lets his dark hair pool around him in waves (it’s longer than he remembers, and he wonders if there’s barbers in space) and he lets his eyes slide closed. 

“Keith?” he hears from a few feet away, from who he thinks might be Allura. But he pays the call no mind because his head is currently a whirlpool of thoughts he can’t make sense of. 

Shiro and Lance are on a mission? Doing what? He can’t find it in him to actually voice his questions. Half of him feels as though that’s not even what he’s really wanting to ask. And what he really wants to question isn’t something he thinks can be properly answered. Or maybe it can, but perhaps he’s afraid of the answer. 

He’s uncertain, and uncertainty has never settled on Keith’s shoulders well. So before he can get the opportunity to get frustrated and then inevitably irate, he lets his thoughts carry him to a place of unconsciousness. 

And before he slips under fully, his head pounding with a thick ache, he lets his head marinate in that name; Lance. 

\- -

At first Keith believes he’s hearing thunder, from the way things seem to crack and clap somewhere somewhat slightly distant and yet somewhat nearby. So he doesn’t bother with opening his eyes, deciding that the storm will serve as white noise to help him sleep, even though it’s what woke him up in the first place.

But as his senses come back to him in gentle waves, he realizes that there’s no rain in space and that the noises he hears washing over him isn’t Mother Nature- it’s a storm of words. 

“Lance, please,” he hears a familiar voice beg, somewhat angry but mostly exasperated, and it makes his stomach recoil on itself. The prickly feeling from hearing that name, _Lance,_ is back, and it makes him dig himself just a bit deeper under his cover. “Keith will still be here in the morning. Just rest now and we can check on him after breakfast together.”

Keith realizes that the voice is _Shiro,_ and he resists the immediate desire to call out to him. Half because he’s exhausted, though he’s slept the day away, and half because he feels like he shouldn’t be in the conversation. 

So he wills himself to go back to sleep.

But not before he catches the words, “I can’t. How can I sleep knowing that he got hurt because of me?” 

The words sting Keith somehow. The voice is wispy, as though the person speaking is withering away. There’s a half-choked sob behind every word and Keith has to bite back his _own_ pain that comes to him in an overbearing mist. 

“None of this is your fault, Lance. He fell and hurt himself, that’s all.”

“But Pidge said the only reason he was even _here_ was to surprise me for my stupid birthday. If it wasn’t for me he wouldn’t have-,”

“Lance, you and I both know Pidge didn’t mean any harm. She’s just scared. And _you’re_ scared, which is why you’re not thinking properly. Things will make more sense when we reconvene in the morning, I promise.” 

Keith is surprised, momentarily, at the way Shiro’s words barrel through Lance’s anxieties so effortlessly. But then he remembers that that’s just what Shiro is like; a pillar in the chaos, a grappling hook on a ledge. 

The familiarity helps Keith find the peace of mind he needs to grow properly sleepy again. And the last things he hears is, “I know. But I want to be here with him anyways.”

\- -

It takes Keith a moment to register that he’s awake the next time he gains consciousness, because through the slits of his eyes, just past his thickly stubborn lashes, he sees the room is dark. He presumes it must be night time now, assuming there’s some sense of night or time in space. 

The next thing he becomes painfully aware of is the warmth he feels.

Keith has never taken especially well to physical contact, especially considering in most cases that he’s known, the contact is ill-meaning.

But when he feels rather than sees his right hand enveloped by hands that are much bigger than his, he feels at ease. His shoulders tense, briefly, but then he’s calm once more and grateful for the worn hands that clamors around his. He accepts the gesture of someone holding onto him, because he can’t remember the last time he’s been physically anchored to anyone, or vice versa, and it means the world to him.

Out of all of the unfamiliarities he’s had to face in the past several hours, this one by far is the most extreme. And yet he can’t help but welcome it. 

And as he pays attention a little closer, he realizes the owner of the hands is speaking rapidly, however quiet.

“ _Lo siento, por favor devuélvalo a mi,_ ” he hears from a voice blanketed in a thick coat of what sounds to be remorse.

Keith never really paid that much attention in his Intermediate Spanish class, but he recognizes a prayer when he hears one. He recognizes the salty pain for what it is as this person, whole and full and so _real_ in this world where Keith can’t make sense of anything, whispers at Keith’s bedside. 

He opens his eyes a little, curious about who could be in this much agony. Unsure of who it could be that’s so broken that they need to, or maybe just _want_ to, hold onto _him_ of all people. 

Upon a once-over in the dark, Keith makes out what looks to be a soldier. Someone in heavy, blue clad-metal armor that complements their sad demeanor. And shoved into Keith’s side is a head of soft brown hair, curling at the tips and cowlicks springing about, as this person, this _soldier_ shakes their head as though they’re in disbelief. As though _they_ have the right to be in disbelief when Keith is the one confused as ever. 

This person holds onto Keith, making nearly silent prayers in the dead of night with their face buried against Keith’s waist and their hands holding onto Keith’s for dear life, and it mystifies Keith beyond measure. He can’t remember the last time he’s ever been something somebody’s willingly wanted to hold onto- not in this way; not with this sense of desperation. Nor can he remember the last time he hasn’t wanted to let go. 

But he _doesn’t_ want to let go. He finds comfort in his hand being sandwiched in between two larger ones like bookends, holding him together mentally and steadying his stirring mind. If only just a fraction. 

So Keith doesn’t push away or ask this stranger to leave his room. Because he has a guttural tide of a feeling of who this person is, and he finds an immense comfort in their presence. It’s the first person he’s come into contact with in the past twenty-four hours that doesn’t make him feel sick. That actually makes him feel like he’s going to be okay. And, other than Shiro or his father, this hand-holding, into the midnight hour whispering, weeping soldier is the only person that makes Keith feel like he has some place in this never-ending world. Like his existence isn’t just some fluke and he was actually meant to be loved. 

His gut wrenches immediately, as if on instinct, at the word ‘love’ once it crosses his mind. But being touched like this; he can’t help but think that the word maybe belongs _somewhere_ in this relationship. Even if it’s only in small increments. 

So Keith manages to find tranquility in his previously stormy mind, and offers what little he can to the crying person. The person who he knows must mean _something_ to him, somewhere in the couple years lost on his mind, because he surely means something to them. 

“Goodnight, Lance,” he whispers, so slow and faintly that there’s a possibility he might not have even heard the words had they not been his own. 

Then, with the last bit of strength left in him, before he’s even able to get confirmation that this person _is_ Lance, he squeezes the hand under his and lets sleep pull him under.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I meant to have this chapter up yesterday but then I kept adding to it so...yeah.  
> I finished a big chunk of chapter three last night so uhhh, I guess that’ll be up tomorrow or Sunday?  
> Also sorry in advance, I’m really struggling to figure out how to edit text for things like italics and stuff. Hopefully I figure it out soon because I use italics a lot in my writing and it’s annoying me that I have to manually put in all the formatting. Why don’t copy and pasted things /actually/ paste?
> 
> Anyway, shoot me a message when you finish this chapter, Anna. Curious to hear your thoughts. <3


	3. don’t be so afraid, no

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance loosens up. Keith and Shiro talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If I were a cartoon character I’d be Musica from Winx Club or Isla from Barbie Princess Charm School because all I do is listen to music. With that said, go stream the ‘Amdist the Chaos’ album by Sara Bareilles because that album single-handedly got me through this chapter.  
> I’m sorry this chapter is so long btw? I just kinda knew where I it wanted to end and where I wanted chapter four to begin but there was a lot of stuff I wanted to include in order to get there so? Yeah?  
> I genuinely thought this fic would be 20k at MOST, so if it reaches past 6 chapters I’m giving you legal rights to bonk me, Anna.  
> Anyway, hope you enjoy!

iii.

At some point in Keith’s life, though he can’t pinpoint exactly when, Keith began regularly staring into mirrors for extended periods of time while tuning out the rest of the world around him. 

To anyone that doesn’t know him, it might come off as a narcissistic tendency. But to anyone who knows at least a quarter of what goes on in Keith’s head, it’s obvious enough that he could never love himself enough to be enthralled with his own looks. In spite of all of his bad traits- hotheadedness, unrefined honesty, a sniper tongue- Keith is never shallow. 

Still, it stupefied Shiro the one time he caught Keith standing in front of his dorm bathroom with a toothbrush in one hand and his face blank, completely caught up in his own reflection’s eyes.

Once broken out of his reverie, Shiro didn’t even bother to question him about what he’d been doing. And Keith’s eternally grateful for it, because he wouldn’t have known how to explain to Shiro that he was trying to concentrate himself out of existence. 

Okay, maybe not _out of existence._ That’s a bit extreme, and slightly morbid...even for Keith. 

It’s just that, not long after Keith had lost his father, he’d decided that he would rather be swallowed by corners and the shadows of a room on most days than to be graced by strangers and their unknown intentions. Keith didn’t think he could bear anymore surprises, so he wasn’t willing to open himself up to being let down again. No- not let down. More like _shattered._ Because you can’t get broken twice if you never put the pieces back together in the first place. 

So Keith left his heart on the floor, as a doormat that said ‘go away!’ or ‘beware of angsty child!’ rather than the usual ‘welcome’ because he couldn’t stand the thought of letting somebody past his pad-locked doors. 

Still, this occasionally served to backfire on Keith’s behalf. He knows fully well that he set himself up for a life of isolation, but there was always that rare moment when someone caught his eye and he actually had the mind to want to reach out to them. People like this- people with features that stood out to Keith like the particularly picked sparkly jewels of a magpie’s nest- always came and went like the weather. They never lasted, and yet when they _were_ around, they were all-consuming like a storm. 

So sometimes Keith wanted to reach out, but he couldn’t. He had worked so hard at zipping himself away from the world, that he became helplessly socially inept and he didn’t know how to speak up and say “Hey, I like your bracelet, my dad had one just like it,” or “Thanks for helping me with that one math problem.” These words always got stuck somewhere in his throat, never to be seen or even known of by anyone besides Keith himself, and he remained in the shadows. On the outskirts of what felt like the _outer world._

If Keith’s life was a Venn diagram, there’d be two sides: Keith, and everything else. And the only time they’d ever meet in the middle for some sort of bare-boned interaction is when Keith thanked the bus-driver going to and from school (because you must always thank the bus driver) or when he shared his evening lunch with the stray cats behind his care home (because Keith saw the movie _The Cat Returns_ once, and he knew better than to ever mistreat a cat.) 

Because of this limited interaction, Keith quickly began to feel invisible to the world outside of his own head. He was easily convinced that maybe the reason people never really spoke to him was because he wasn’t there; because he wasn’t _somebody_ to talk to. Not physically anyway. 

Maybe he was some otherworldly spirit that could only be seen by certain people during certain periods of time, and he wasn’t as in control of his physicality as he’d initially thought. Or maybe he’d passed away in the same accident that’d taken his father from him, and now he roamed the world as a semi-sentiment ghost. 

Keith had taken up watching _The X-Files_ VHS-tape box set at his orphanage on the rare chance he got television privileges and his house siblings hadn’t turned on PBS Kids first, so he was keen to take to conspiracy theories for an explanation as to why he was invisible. 

Or, why he _felt_ invisible. Keith would get so used to the thought that he couldn’t be seen and that’s why he had to lurk in corners away from humanity, that it would catch him by surprise when he was actually faced with his own reflection. In a mirror, in a puddle, off the freshly washed silverware his caregiver forced him to wash, or in the rim of a shiny car he passed on his way to go to school.

Keith would see his reflection occasionally, and he’s slightly stunned and slightly cross. 

It’s that initial surprise that gets him, fills him up to the brim, as he’s met with a face so pale it’s placid and lips so chapped they’re like a cracked sidewalk of unused kisses. He finds eyebrows that are thicker than mud and hair darker than the anxiety that swirls in his gut at all times. But nothing ever compares to the hungry eyes he becomes face-to-face with, somehow unavoidable and always ready to pierce him as though they aren’t _his eyes._ Keith thinks that if there’s anything about himself that worries him, it’s his eyes. The way that they’re that heterogeneous navy-gray-eggplant color and there’s a longing in them that he doesn’t know how to fill.

But afterwards there’s always a little relief that comes after the shock. Like, ‘ _wow I thought for sure that I wasn’t all that real or all that human, but I guess I am.’_ Because as cool as it would be if Keith _did_ turn out to be a vampire or a ghost or something, he’s glad that he isn’t. 

He’s glad that at the end of the day he’s human, because that means he’s capable of being seen. And that’s what he really wants; to be seen. 

Keith doesn’t ever really _feel_ seen until that following morning, when he wakes up to voices and movement on his bed. 

“It’s not your turn, I double-skipped you,” he hears a voice say, and then he feels shuffling around the foot of his bed.

“That’s cheating! There’s no doubles in Uno!” a different voice protests, and it’s enough to make Keith open his eyes to figure out who the hell is playing Uno first thing in the morning. 

“There is if there’s only two players,” he sees Pidge say with an eye-roll. 

Keith takes in the sight before him to realize that it’s Pidge and… Lance. He feels stiff all of a sudden, because somehow Lance is different and the same all at once in clear daylight. He’s still in his blue armor, although he’s taken off the top piece, revealing what looks to be a skin-tight black bodysuit underneath. And then there’s the brunette hair that Keith felt pushed up against his weight in the dead of night, and it’s doubled in messiness and falls over Lance’s forehead in wisps. But now he’s able to see a sharp jawline that frames a jutted chin, and long dark eyelashes that go on for miles that he couldn’t see in the dark of last night. 

And then there’s Pidge, in what looks to be pajamas and her glasses pushed up into her hair holding back her bangs, gripping her Uno cards close to her nose as she deliberates her next move. 

Keith sits up to get a better sight of the scene in front of him, but his movement knocks down the card stack balanced on his medical bed and the moment painted in front of him is no longer a picture in a perfect frame. Now it’s a movie unpausing, making him an actor in the film he can’t remember ever auditioning for. 

Immediately he’s met with the amber eyes of Pidge, and it reminds him of Matt so sickeningly that he can’t help but turn to Lance for mental refuge. Where he’s met with a pair of anxious brown eyes, seemingly carrying so much burden that Keith wonders if maybe Lance is more than he’d initially suspected. His eyes seem to be of a person that’s holding up the universe, and for the first time Keith understands that phrase ‘eyes are the windows to the soul.’

He gets it because he feels stripped to the marrow in front of Lance in the moment and, for the first time, he feels seen. 

To something deeper than he’s ever even revealed to Shiro, and it catches him off guard so violently that Keith lets an undignified cough escape his throat. And that’s enough to break the crack in time they’ve created. Lance’s eyes dilate to a normal size, and Pidge shuffles her cards, and Keith sits up straighter.

“Hey,” Lance speaks first, and Keith grips his blanket. 

“Hey…,” he answers, and then stares at the cards Pidge is gathering before arching an eyebrow. “Were you guys seriously playing Uno on my sick bed?” 

“We were waiting for you to wake up,” Pidge answers plainly, while Lance seems to slightly tint with red.

Keith doesn’t know what to say to this, so he lets things fall quietly before Lance is cutting through the quiet once more.

“Are you feeling okay?” Lance’s voice is filled with something that Keith hates; it’s not exactly timid, but he can tell when someone’s walking on eggshells and isn’t saying what they’re thinking, and he hates it. 

“I feel the same as I did yesterday,” Keith replies, though it’s not exactly the complete truth. Yesterday Keith felt like he was drowning; now he feels naked in front of people he knows nothing about even though they seem to know _him_.

“Yesterday you kept tossing your guts. Do you feel sick?” Pidge inquires, already hopping off the bed as if he’s seconds away from emptying his stomach into her lap. 

Somehow Keith feels embarrassed, as if there's anything to feel embarrassed about when you barely even know what year it is and you’re on a giant castle ship floating through space. 

Still, Keith still manages to come to a sense of bashfulness. Especially when Lance cocks his head to an angle and asks, “You were sick yesterday?”

Keith folds his arms in response and leans back against the wall before shaking his head. “I’m _fine_. Just...a headache.” 

That part’s a constant; for every moment he’s been conscious in the past day or so, he’s had an aching in one lobe or another. 

“Well that makes sense, you have a concussion. A bad one too, I’m surprised you didn’t go into a coma.” Pidge says idly, before placing the game cards she’d been gripping on Keith’s bedside table and stretching. “Speaking of, I’m going to go get Coran to check your vitals.”

Keith begins to protest, but Pidge is exiting the medbay before he can tell her he’s perfectly fine, and then Keith becomes painfully aware of it being just him and Lance left in a room. 

Once again he meets Lance’s brown eyes, something sultry hidden within the crevices of the irises, and Lance smiles weakly. “Hey.”

Keith smirks before rolling his eyes, somehow feeling a familiarity in this stranger. “Hey.”

Lance chews at his lip for a moment, while Keith thinks of about a million questions, and then they both go to speak at the same time. 

“So I-,”

“Um, do-,”

They blink, eyelashes flapping at ungodly speeds, before Lance chuckles nervously and Keith coughs.

 _Talk about awkward,_ he thinks. 

“Sorry, you go first,” Lance says quickly, wringing his fingers together, and Keith wishes he’d stop being so anxious.

“Oh...I was just going to say thank you. For staying with me last night.” Keith doesn’t know if that’s a normal thing to say, but he doesn’t exactly have the energy to care. 

“You were awake?” Lance gapes, now picking at his cuticles. 

“Yes and no. I just...kind of heard you and Shiro talking. I think. Either way, thanks.” Keith considers adding more to this. Like, ‘you really didn’t have to be at my bedside all night but I really appreciate it and also you're kind of hot,’ but thinks better of it. For some reason he suddenly feels shy about Lance, even though he’d already decided last night that anybody who spends the whole night squeezing his hand isn’t somebody he should be shy around. 

“Sorry I was just, worried,” Lance mutters, staring at Keith’s white sheets and nowhere else. 

“Don’t be. Allura said I’ll be back to normal in a few days apparently.”

“But-”

Keith glowers in his direction, because that’s the only response he can think of to get Lance to stop trying to change the narrative, and Lance’s mouth quickly shuts. 

“You don’t have anything to be worked up about, so would you calm down?” Keith requests shortly, and intercepts one of Lance’s hands from picking at his fingers tensely by laying his right palm on Lance’s left. 

For a beat, there’s just the sound of the two of them breathing and Keith thinks maybe Lance is mad, because his brow furrows and his mouth twists into something uncertain. 

But then Lance eyes meets Keith’s with this look like he’s about to ask him the biggest make-or-break-question in the world, and it makes a lump form in Keith’s throat.

“Do you remember me?” Lance asks. His voice isn’t exactly desperate, but it _is_ pleading. Keith can hear it- him asking for the person he’s lost to come back to him. Like he so hopelessly needs him there; like he longs for someone that isn't there. And Keith thinks it’s a bit dramatic of Lance to act as though Keith has died somewhere or something, because his memory loss is _temporary._

But at the same time, he wishes he _was_ himself. The Keith that Lance knows. Because he can tell, from the way Lance carries himself with doubt and uncertainty, that the Keith with _all_ of his memories is someone important to Lance. 

“No,” Keith answers slowly. _I wish._

Lance nods solemnly, his face falling slightly, and then Keith begins to understand why Lance is so nervous. He recognizes how hard it must’ve been for Lance to ask that, especially when he probably already knew the answer. 

So Keith grabs one of Lance’s free hands and forces his navy eyes to meet Lance’s chocolate ones, with all the earnestness he can muster. 

“Quit acting so sad, dude. I’m going to be fine. _You’re_ going to be fine,” Keith manages to spit out, feeling tense despite his own efforts to create a less upsetting environment. 

And Lance seems to stiffen as well, if only for a second or two, before eventually turning Keith’s hand in his and staring at it. 

“I know,” Lance murmurs, his thumb running over a scar on Keith’s hand that doesn’t hold any familiarity in his head. “It’s just that…,” 

“Just what?” Keith doesn’t mean to sound so upset; like Lance is _annoying_ him. But he can’t help but find himself frustrated at Lance’s wrinkled forehead and tense jawline. He can’t help but want to iron out the furrow in his eyebrows and pack up the bags under his eyes. Because he doesn’t like this look on Lance, even if it’s the _only_ look he can currently remember. He wants Lance to be fine just as desperately as Lance wants the same for Keith. Partially because Keith has never taken keenly to people worrying and fawning over him, like he’s some helplessly doe-eyed child that can’t stand his own ground, but partially due to something else. Keith isn’t so sure about what that something is, though. 

So he’s stuck trying to smother Lance’s uneasy apprehension with shy hand holding and thin reassurances, even if it doesn’t deliver well. 

And what’s to be expected, really? Offering comforting consolations isn’t exactly Keith’s forte. He can’t recall the last time, if ever, he’s had to offer emotional support and soft words to lift spirits. And for good reason. He’s out of practice, and therefore not the best at stringing together the words needed to make somebody feel better about a less than ideal situation. And even if Keith _was_ good at finding the right words and serving them for those starved of happiness, he’s never really wanted to. The only person he’s ever wanted to reassure, to make thick bottomless promises to, is his father on the days when those job interviews didn’t work out. When the lights went out from unpaid bills or Keith got lice from their imperfect living conditions. But other than for the sake of his dad...well, Keith hasn’t found it in himself since to care enough.

Until now. 

Now, Keith is able to look at Lance’s tired face and feel the worn skin of Lance’s hand and decide that for this stranger he’ll make an exception and try. Because he’s got the feeling in his gut that this stranger is actually the farthest thing from a stranger Keith’s been met with in the past several hours, and a little deeper in his gut is that elusively swirling _something_ feeling. 

So he squeezes Lance’s hand once, then twice, and tries to pry answers from his eyes to find out what’s _really_ gnawing at him so he can patch it up. 

“It’s nothing…,” Lance eventually says, after Keith’s bored holes into his face with his eyes and Lance’s lips have pressed themselves into a thin line. 

Keith goes to protest, knowing that whatever’s pecking at Lance’s heart is far from ‘nothing,’ but then Coran strolls into the room with the remaining Paladins at his heel and the words Keith means to say are left hanging off the corner of his lips. 

\- -

Keith feels guilty for the headache that suddenly hits him like a pound of bricks behind his eyes as soon as the remaining patrons of the castle enter the medbay, all with curious looks on their faces. Because Keith knows that’s Keith’s body instinctively going, ‘ _Oh no, not these people again._ ’

He feels bad because he knows, despite what his migraine might tell him, that these people are his friends. 

He knows because they all shuffle in quietly, with apprehension on their shoulders and their eyes darting back and forth between each other like an awkward game of “What the hell do we say?” ping-pong. And even though he can see it on their faces that they want to prod him with questions or spill to their hearts’ content until his head is teeming with information, they don’t. 

Coran simply approaches the end of his bed, while everyone else stands off a few feet away, their eyes clinging to Keith’s face but never crudely disturbing him. 

“How are you feeling, number four?” Coran questions, adjusting what looks to be an IV with precision and then going to inspect one of the monitors behind him. 

“I’m fine…,” Keith answers sheepishly after figuring out he’s ‘number four’, somewhat uncomfortable with the atmosphere created by the overcrowded room but still grateful that he wasn’t being bombarded with words the way he was yesterday. 

“Are you sure? No queasy stomach? No hives? No aching, sneezing, belching, or puking?” Coran asks, seemingly disbelieving, and Pidge snorts from behind him. 

“Not that I know of,” Keith answers plainly, somewhat embarrassed, and that seems to satisfy Coran. 

Sooner than later, Keith’s friends have shared short words and asked a handful of questions in intervals, all of them much more delicate than they were the day before. And each offer him something that Keith is grateful for. Beyond grateful for, honestly. He knew that these people that he was stuck in space with were his “friends,” but he’s never really known friendship all that well up until then. But it hits him like a semi-truck once it becomes apparent that these people actually care. 

“I know you like to read, so I figured you could use something to pass the time,” Pidge begins first, pushing a book on his bedside table.

And then Allura places a change of clothes for him at the edge of his bed, and Hunk offers him to bring him breakfast if he’s feeling well enough to eat. Keith thanks them each, slightly overwhelmed but overall touched. 

Which is something he decides he’ll have to later come to terms with, because Keith isn’t the type to really feel moved or grateful due to kind gestures. Except it comes to him that it’s because there’s never been anyone to _be_ kind to him save for Shiro and Adam. And now he has a room full of people offering him a change of blankets or to get him a glass of whatever or something of the sort. 

“I’m sure he’s fine guys,” Lance contends for Keith after Hunk asks if he’s _sure_ he doesn’t want to try the Altean equivalent of an Advil, and it’s at this they all decided to let up and exit the room. 

“Just call if you need us,” Allura says as she leaves the room, slowly tailing after Pidge, Hunk, and Coran. 

Keith sighs in relief, appreciative of the care but so unused to the attention he isn’t sure what to do with himself, but he swiftly is brought to the realization that he’s relaxing a moment too soon.

Because after the Brady Bunch are gone, Shiro is pushing off the wall where he’d been quietly observing the scene before him and Keith straightens. 

He isn’t sure why, but he gets the feeling that Shiro’s about to chew him out. Or spew some mantra bullshit in his direction. And that’s just Shiro, really; he’s the life compass that Keith never really had, even when his dad was around. But the residing black paladin’s shoulders are squared and his jaw is set. His boots slap against the medbay’s tile with a sense of deliberation, like everything he’s doing and _not_ doing is purposeful and calculated, and his arms are folded tightly. Keith worries that whatever move Shiro makes next in the chess game that’s this unsettling thriller of an amnesiac fever dream, Keith’s bishop might just be snatched up by a knight. (Or something like that; Keith has always been more of a Connect-4 kind of guy.)

But it serves to set Keith well at the sight of Lance noticing the change in atmosphere as well. Lance tightens a bit, in both posture and in his expression, and he follows Shiro with a gaze that’s as swallowing as an overzealous whirlpool. 

“Hey,” Shiro says casually, as if he isn’t completely setting both Keith and Lance on edge. “What’s up?”

Keith stares back at Shiro blankly, a shrug rolling off his shoulders, before answering, “I wouldn’t know. I’ve apparently forgotten the last seven or eight years of my life.”

Shiro tsks with a shake of his head, in the way Keith’s father used to with that _‘What am I going to do with this kid?_ ’ expression he always held, and the thought makes Keith’s stomach churn. 

“Right. Well, I just wanted to see how you’re doing. And let you know I’m here for you if you ever need to...talk.” Shiro seems to want to say more, opening his mouth and then closing it a few times as though his words are caught on his uvula, but he takes a glance at Lance before he ultimately sighs. “Holding down the fort for us, Lance?”

“Am I supposed to be the fort?” Keith asks indignantly, with a turning up of his nose, and Lance and Shiro chuckle heartily even though Keith had been asking genuinely.

“I was just about to head out, actually. I’m sure you guys have all sorts of...brotherly things to discuss,” Lance tells Shiro with a bit of haste in his voice, like he can’t escape the older man’s gaze quickly enough, but Shiro stops Lance on his way out. 

Keith watches with intrigue as Shiro whispers something in Lance’s ear that makes Lance’s ears redden by the tips. Whatever it is that Shiro says, it stops Lance from leaving before Shiro. And within seconds it’s Keith’s brother taking his leave from the room after a short goodbye and Keith stares at Lance with uncertainty. 

Lance stares after Shiro for a second, before turning to Keith with perplexity ruffling his eyebrows and slight embarrassment dusting his cheeks. 

“Is it me, or was that weird?” Lance asks, biting at his thumbnail and Keith immediately nods. 

“Definitely.” Keith begins to get up from his bed, for the first time in what feels like forever, because he has a little more than half a mind to go after Shiro and talk to him. Shiro was a lot of things, but most of which were synonymous with ‘dorky’ or ‘heroic.’ Maybe even ‘paternal’ on some days. 

Except this Shiro, the Takashi Keith just saw, is being elusive and secluded. With a dash of cagey for an extra flavor that Keith’s unaccustomed to. That he’s _allergic_ to. 

So there’s no way he’s just going to let Shiro speak two words to him and then leave. 

However, when Keith begins to remove his blankets and then goes to stand on his own two feet, he goes a bit woozy. The headache he’s sporting suddenly makes itself known with a pots and pans sort of banging, and Keith almost topples over before he’s being swept up in a pair of arms. 

“Whoa there, what’re you doing?” Lance says quickly, steadying Keith and settling him down to take a seat. 

“I wanna talk to Shiro,” Keith rushes while standing up once more, only for Lance to gently push him back down by the shoulder.

“Fine, then I’ll go get him for you. But you’ve had an eventful morning and you need to relax.” 

“God, who died and gave _you_ the PhD?” Keith argues with an arm fold to encentuate his point. 

“I don’t think degrees are inheritable, Mullet,” Lance answers without hesitation, as though he’s got ammunition at the ready for whatever slips from Keith’s mouth. He begins to gather the top-half of his armor suit, where he’s let it rest lazily against the wall for the past several hours and Keith frowns. 

“I don’t have a _mullet_. And are you seriously just going to leave me here? Alone, with nothing to do?” Keith falls back on his bed frivolously, taking up his best woe-is-me position. Whatever will get him out of this stupid room. 

He’s really fine with the peace if he’s being honest. He got accustomed to not having people around a long time ago, but he decides that’s for him to know solely.

“I was just going to go take a shower before grabbing Shiro, if that’s alright with you,” Lance says with false politeness. 

Keith sits up, hugging his pillow to his chest. And with all the seriousness in the world, he says “Let me join you.” 

The red paladin short circuits for a little longer than a few seconds, his face going through about half the stages of grief (disbelief and bargaining being center stage) before Lance eventually laughs nervously. “Gee, shortstack. I figured you’d at least have the decency to take a guy out to dinner first.” 

It takes a moment, but Keith eventually catches his error and launches his pillow at Lance’s head with surprising accuracy. “You know what I meant!” 

\- -

After some awkwardness on Keith’s end and thorough laughing from Lance, Keith eventually convinces Lance to let him leave the medbay. On some conditions. 

“At least let me carry you, you can barely stand,” Lance spoke.

Keith, as dubious as ever, argued stiffly. But it was all for naught, because Lance insisted that it was his job (“with pretty decent healthcare but a less than perfect dental plan”) to save people. And in that moment, Keith apparently needed saving. Mostly from himself. 

“I’m not a knight in shining armor just for show,” Lance had said, already bending over to offer his piggy-backing services to the former black paladin. 

“I wouldn’t exactly say, shining,” Keith answered begrudgingly, but still climbing onto the Red Paladin Express hesitantly. “It’s more like dirty and slightly dented armor.”

Lance had laughed, loudly like Keith was some sort of Las Vegas comedian in a sold-out stadium rather than a delirious soldier, and Keith became painfully aware. Aware of the fact that Lance was a whole lot more than he had initially considered. For the _second time that day._

It was impossibly hard to ignore just how thin Lance’s bodysuit was without his chest plate on, or how the nape of Lance’s neck held a sea of beauty marks and freckles and scars that traveled down to skin that was covered. There was a humiliating plethora of things that caught Keith’s attention on the short ride to Keith and Lance’s neighboring rooms, and Keith had to bury his head into the plane between Lance’s shoulder blades to keep his brain from swirling with the sudden Lance facts he was picking up on. 

Lance paused just as Keith’s forehead hit his back, and Keith tightened his legs around Lance’s middle. “You good, Cobain?” 

“Never been better,” Keith replied dryly, and soon enough he’s off of Lance’s back and heading into his room for a much needed shower. 

And Keith was grateful for his separation from the red paladin; he was beginning to worry that any extra prolonged contact with Lance would cause him to ultimately embarrass himself. 

It didn’t take long for his mind to travel elsewhere, either. In the bathroom, alone with nothing but the clothes Allura had left him and his thoughts, Keith quickly found himself in awe of what he caught of his own reflection in the mirror. 

For the umpteenth time in his life, he saw a face that shocked him. But this time it wasn’t because his own physicality caught him off guard. It was due to the _details_ of these physical features that he was left reeling a bit, losing his balance a little and having to grip his sink in order to hold himself upright. 

His hair was longer, as he’d already noticed, but it was even past a mullet honestly. He _really_ hoped there were barbers in space. But even beyond that, he looked so incredibly different. His face was ridden with scratches he didn’t recognize, and an almost-but-not-really 5 o’clock shadow that was a lot for Keith to take in considering he hadn’t even gotten his first armpit hairs until he was thirteen. His eyes were heavier than ever, like they knew more than even he did. He had the eyes of someone who had seen things that were better left unsaid, and suddenly Keith wasn’t too excited about getting his memories back. There was only so much he could bear, and he was certain that the version of him with all his memories was a him that was shouldering more burdens than he should ever have to. 

Things didn’t exactly improve once Keith had actually entered the shower, either. He couldn’t stand to look at his scar-ridden body or the healing bruises that trailed across his skin like a map of pain in his past he couldn’t remember. There was a small scar in his abdomen that looked freshest of them all, and sat where Keith felt the most pain outside of his headache. For the first time in the past two days, he wondered exactly what happened to him. Furthermore, his skin didn’t even feel like his. It was even paler than usual and rough in all the wrong places like a well-loved blanket in desperate need of fabric softener. 

Keith began to feel too small for his own body as he dried off, slipped into his fresh outfit, and noticed just how much taller he was since the last time he’d considered his height. He saw dirt and grime under his nails that he had to wash away in the sink after brushing his teeth, and he noticed the way his face had chiseled itself into something reminiscent of marble statues as he used Altean mouthwash. It made him think that maybe the biggest stranger he’d been faced with since he lost his memories was himself. 

For such a large portion of Keith’s life, he’d felt too _small_ for himself. In one way or another, his physical form had never really matched who he really was past his outer layer of wallpaper covering a chipping painting of an unsure boy. His height had constantly betrayed his age and his facial expressions hardly ever matched what he was feeling deep down. But now the problem was just the opposite.

His legs didn’t exactly go on for miles like Lance’s did, but they at least went on for yards and were more toned than he remembered. Everything about him was too long or muscular or just too all-around unfamiliar for him, and it made him wish he could shrink. 

He sat at the edge of his bed for a second, staring into his rough hands as though he was capable of palm reading and he’d find answers etched into his own skin, and tried his best to recollect himself. After a second or two, Keith decided he was too hungry to bother with answers, and would leave his self-reflecting for a later date. 

It was after this that Keith needed a pair of shoes to avoid his feet slapping against the despicably cold linoleum that lined his room and the castle halls. So he slipped on the first pair of shoes he saw- a set of red lion slippers- and went on his search for Lance to help him find Shiro and maybe some breakfast. 

“Lance?” Keith said shyly upon entering Lance’s quarters and not immediately seeing the red paladin. He had waited outside of Lance’s door for an initial five minutes, before eventually deciding he wasn’t willing to wait around any longer and barged into Lance’s room. But now he was having second thoughts. 

“In here!” Lance called from the bathroom, and Keith sluggishly followed his voice. 

He wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting when he entered Lance’s bathroom, but he hadn’t considered seeing his friend with his face partially slathered in some green substance. 

“What is that?” Keith questioned instantly, slightly repulsed, and Lance offered a thousand-dollar loan of his million-dollar smile. 

“This really nice face mask Allura gave me. It’s like an avocado mask, but not really since there’s no avocados in space. Wanna try?” 

“No thanks,” Keith replied immediately, taking a seat on Lance’s sink counter. 

“You sure? I can practically hear your pores screaming from here.” Lance swiped a dollop of his weird face junk onto Keith’s nose, and Keith only sneezed in reply. “Anyway, sorry for taking so long.” 

Keith didn’t grace Lance with an immediate response, but rather decided to drink Lance in for a minute. His face was red and damp where it wasn’t covered in green face mask, and his damp hair curled at the tips into small waves comparable to miniature tide pools. And a little farther down he was cozied up in a pajama set and blue lion slippers that matched Keith’s red ones. 

It was hard to find words that could fit what it was that Keith was feeling right then, but there was definitely _something_ there. And that something made Keith want to quietly continue to take Lance in as if he would be swept away the way Keith’s memories had been. (Even if only temporarily.)

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Lance questions with a nervous smile after his face was fully covered and he realized Keith wasn’t planning on saying anything without prompting. 

Keith blinks silently for a second more before offering the smallest of smiles in Lance’s general direction. “You just look really comfortable.”

Lance chuckled a bit before washing his hands. “I am, yeah. Usually I’d try to get some training in around this time of the day but I’m tired. Gonna just eat and then crash, ya know?” 

“Oh, sorry…,” Keith wants to pick at his skin from the way it crawls at the thought of Lance being tired. It’s obvious enough, from the way Lance yawns lowly and the way fatigue sits on the porch of his eye bags, but it still nips at Keith’s nerves knowing Lance is tired because he stayed up just to be with him. 

“Why are you sorry?” Lance blanches, rubbing his wet hands on the towel that sits on his sink and Keith shrugs. 

“It’s my fault that you’re tired. You could’ve just gone to bed last night but you didn’t; you stayed with me,” Keith wants to bite down on the words streaming from his mouth, because he doesn’t want to get sentimental. Not first thing in the morning, not with Lance, not ever. However, he knows how important it is that he makes his point. Otherwise he’s sure Lance will continue to look out for Keith at his own expense, and that’s not what Keith wants. “But you don’t have to do that, you know. You don’t have to... _watch_ me like I’m your kid.” 

Keith thinks of saying more, but the words that come to mind aren’t exactly the kindest things on the menu of his platter of thoughts, so he just looks at Lance squarely in hopes that he understands what he’s trying to get at.

Lance stares at him with a frown before looking at him sideways. “I do though. I _do_ have to.”

“Why?”

Lance doesn’t answer right away. He washes the gunk off his face first, hangs up his towel, and sets his jaw before looking at himself in the mirror. And it’s only after then that Lance says in some low voice that isn’t really his, “Because you’d do the same thing for me.”

And it’s these words that makes Keith’s sight begin to blend and bleed together, although only for a few blinks. Still, it feels like Keith loses his breath for a second as his face burns with something he doesn’t recognize or like. 

He isn’t sure how Lance can let something like that leave his mouth, like those words belonged to Keith to begin with, but it upsets Keith’s stomach. Especially because, when he pages through the scene in the flip book of his brain, it sends him reeling that Lance says “you would.” Not “you would _have.”_ That “you would” makes these conditions present tense, as in: if the roles were reversed right in that second Keith would be offering _Lance_ piggy-back rides and so much more. And this upsets Keith not because Lance is wrong about that; it bothers him that he’s _right._ It’s worthy of hair-pulling that Lance knows Keith so well, even like this, and yet Keith knows nothing. 

So Keith slips off the sink counter and offers the best he can. “Thanks.”

Okay, so maybe “thanks” isn’t exactly his _best._ Still, he doesn’t know what Lance expects from him, and he would rather give too little than too much. He wouldn’t be able to stand the thought of him being overbearing. 

“No need to thank me, cowboy,” Lance replies coolly, shrugging. “Like I said, it’s my job to save people.” 

Keith rolls his eyes before exiting the bathroom, with Lance following behind. “Well could you maybe save me from starving?” 

Lance laughs (Keith decides that Lance is a person full of laughs, and he doesn’t hate that.) and runs a hand through his hair. “I’m sure Hunk has something-,” 

Lance cuts himself off, as though he’s just seen a ghost or something worse like socks in sandals, and Keith arches an eyebrow. 

“That suit you’re wearing looks thin, you must be cold.” Lance doesn’t wait to be graced with a response before going through his closet and Keith inspects himself, suddenly feeling self-aware. 

It hadn’t even occurred to him before, but the outfit Allura gave him isn’t an outfit at all. It’s a sandy colored bodysuit that’s almost as embarrassing as walking around wearing the average hospital gown. He supposes it’s at no fault of Allura’s that Lance sees him in it, accentuated with _slippers,_ but he isn’t any less flustered at the thought. 

Keith watches Lance clamor through a closet ridden with a variety of ocean-colored items, and he scratches his chin. “I’m guessing blue is your favorite color?” 

“Second, actually,” Lance hums, disappearing deeper into his closet and Keith settles onto the bed patiently. “My favorite is stormy gray. I love thunderstorms, it’s like nature’s ASMR. But I read somewhere that blue will bring out the golden undertones in my skin. So I started collecting blue clothes from all the planets we go to that has stuff that’ll fit me, but honestly I’m wishing I bought more gray.”

Lance doesn’t continue on his color theory tyrant, but rather tosses a thick red sweater Keith’s way.

“Oh, so you _do_ own something that’s a different color,” Keith comments after pulling the sweater over his head. 

“It’s yours, actually,” Lance amends. “I borrowed it while you were away since I’m tired of blue. Hope that’s okay.” 

It’s more than okay, Keith decides. Because it seems as though the sweater is just a size too big from Lance stretching it out, and it faintly smells like Lance’s room: cinnamon and something citrusy. It’s nice. 

“Can I eat now?” Keith says, pulling the sweater sleeves over his knuckles, but Lance pulls one more thing from his closet and puts a pair of shades over Keith’s eyes. “What the-”

“You have a concussion, right? It’s so the light won’t be so overwhelming. Trust me, it helps.” Lance’s gaze goes crooked while Keith adjusts the glasses, and then Lance pops a smile. “Besides, you look cool. Like Will Smith.” 

Keith only rolls his eyes again, unable to decide how to describe his gratitude. Or moreover, unable to decide if it’s _okay_ for him to show his appreciation. The red paladin is kind and giving, but Keith can’t help but be hesitant at his gestures. He has the never ending feeling that at any moment the rug will be pulled from under him and he’ll regret letting Lance past his barriers. 

“I’m going to go put my armor and bayard away, are you good on finding the kitchen on your own? It’s just around the corridor.” 

Keith nods and that’s where they split, both exiting Lance’s room and then turning off different paths in the halls. 

Just as the former blue paladin had said, the kitchen is only a turn or two away and is easy enough to find. There, he spots Hunk at the counter cutting what seems to be some weird patchy fruit. It resembles a dragon fruit in texture, but a spotted banana or shy apple in color. And it makes Keith’s stomach rumble.

Hunk looks up then, seemingly caught off guard, and he blinks at Keith in surprise.

“Keith! What are you doing up? You should be resting,” Hunk comments at the sight of his former leader, pausing from cutting up his fruit. 

Keith takes a moment to size up Hunk, observing his apron that says ‘Vrepit Sa the Cook’ and the flour dusted on his chin, before replying with, “I was hungry.” 

“I could’ve brought you breakfast in bed,” Hunk insists, and Keith frowns. 

“You don’t need to do that.” 

“I know, but I want to.” 

Keith can’t exactly argue with _that_ , although he’d like to. He wishes that everyone would understand that as nice as it is to be cared about, it’s weird for him. And it’s uncomfortable to know he’s putting people out of their way to look after him. The only person he’s familiar with is Shiro, and Shiro seems to be the _only_ person that isn’t making a fuss. So why is it just the opposite for these people he doesn’t recognize? 

These thoughts make Keith’s underlying headache roar, and he decides to change the topic while rubbing at his temples. “What’re you making?” 

“Your favorite, malofruit turnovers. I was going to try to surprise you with them, actually,” Hunks answers shyly. 

“Let me help,” Keith offers. Hunk takes some coercing, but eventually Keith is allowed to peel and cut fruit while Hunk prepares a fresh batch of dough. They work in a comfortable silence for a minute or two, with Hunk humming Queen and Keith chopping in tune, before Hunk eventually turns to Keith.

“So what’s up with the shades?” 

Keith’s face goes a few shades darker and he cuts a little slower. 

“Lance’s idea. He said I need to be protected from the light because of my concussion or whatever.” Keith means to say it as a complaint, because having to walk around wearing sunglasses indoors like some sort of A-list celeb with an inflated ego _is_ embarrassing, but his voice accidentally comes out all soft and wispy. It makes him duck his head and chop a little harder than necessary. 

“Ah, sounds like Lance…,” Hunk answers, his voice matching Keith’s, and Keith eyes Hunk with interest. 

“Does it?” Keith wants to flat out ask what Lance is like. What his favorite ice cream flavor, what sorts of music he likes to listen to, whether he’s more of an Animal Crossing or Mortal Kombat person. If he’s gentle and patient with everybody or...just Keith. 

It crosses his mind, but he quickly files it away. He doesn’t know what Hunk would think of him if he started running off at the mouth so easily about _Lance_ just because the red pilot is nice to him. And Hunk seems nice enough, and the least judgmental person aboard their ship, but he rather not take any chances. Besides, if he wants everyone to stop treating him like a kid then it’d be in his best interest to not ask such puerile questions. 

Hunk nods at Keith’s limply worded question though, seemingly enthusiastic about the topic.

“Oh, yeah. He’s super sweet and chill, always thinking of others,” Hunk pauses then, with something crossing his face that isn’t quite mischievous (Hunk isn’t properly capable of mischief) but rather secretive. Like there’s an inside joke somewhere hanging over Keith’s head, and Hunk is the only one that can reach it. “Especially you.” 

Keith nearly nicks his finger on his cutting knife upon hearing this, and flounders for words. “Me? I- What? Why-,” 

Keith doesn’t ever really get any insight on Hunk’s train of thought in saying this, because Hunk only laughs rather than elaborates, and in walks Lance.

“‘Morning, sunshine,” Lance hums in Hunk’s direction, throwing an arm over the yellow paladin’s broad shoulders. 

“Why are you saying good morning? You already saw me today,” Hunk replies, gently extracting himself from his best friend in favor of taking some of the fruit from Keith’s pile to begin making a purée.

“So? Can I not greet the light of my life and remind him of how much he means to me?” Lance speaks while propping himself on the counter beside Keith, stealing a slice of his handiwork. 

“Hands off the merchandise!” Hunk demands upon seeing Lance munching on the literal fruits of Keith’s labor, and dumps the rest of the remaining fruit in a pot with a few other unrecognizable ingredients. 

“Merchandise?” Keith thinks aloud, and Lance frowns in Hunk’s direction. 

“I take back my previous statements. Keith, you’re now the residential light of my life. Stingy Gordon Ramsay over here can take up the spot of wound in my _heart_ ,” Lance exclaims with fake offense, his voice coming off as more playful than anything. But his joking tone doesn’t make Keith feel any less...well, he doesn’t know what he’s feeling. But whatever it is, there’s a lot of it. 

“Lance, I know what you’re doing,” Hunk says smoothly as his filling simmers, and he fixes Lance with a contrastingly chilly look. “And it’s not going to work.”

Hunk Garret-Tupuola was a man of many strengths, both physically and elsewise. But his greatest of all was being able to read his best friend’s mind like a cookbook hot off the press. Which is to say, he was able to pinpoint when Lance had no-good intentions (which was often, considering Lance carried enough mischief for the both of them) and Hunk knew exactly what the red paladin wanted. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. And, quite frankly, I’m insulted that you think I’m here for anything other than emotional support for my buddy Keith, here.” Lance looked at Keith with eyes that definitely said ‘ _back me up here’_ and Keith sighed. 

“It’s true, Lance is my emotional support dog,” Keith said with all the seriousness he could muster without laughing. 

“Hold on now, I didn’t agree to that. I was thinking more like a caregiver. With perks. Can’t I at least be a cat if you’re going to reduce me to an animal? Yeesh!” 

“I think you being a dog is an improvement, if anything,” Keith commented without even batting an eye and Hunk laughed loudly from behind him. 

From there Keith and Lance argued about what species Lance deserved to be and if he _was_ a dog what breed he’d be. In the end they aren’t really able to come to an agreement (Keith stubbornly stands by preferring a husky dog as a companion than anything else, while Lance thinks he’d make a good T-Rex) but they’re both too busy laughing to continue talking. 

“You guys are nuts,” Hunks comments with no bite in his voice, after his turnovers are pressed and in the oven. “And I guess since you’re just here as Keith’s guard dog then you _aren’t_ trying to steal one of his turnovers?” 

Lance turns up his nose and crosses his arms, trying to fight off a laugh for the sake of his dramatics, before he says, “It’s dinosaur caregiver slash manager to you, _sir_. And I’m sure my client can decide for himself if he’d like to share.”

Keith pulls himself up onto the counter beside Lance and sighs. 

“I don’t care, as long as I can eat soon,” Keith replies with exasperation, and Lance cheers. 

“I hate it here,” Hunk resigns with an eye roll, just as the oven-timer dings. 

\- -

Breakfast with Hunk and Lance serves to be the opposite of what Keith was expecting; assuming that Keith even sat down at the dining table with expectations. 

He found it strange, honestly, that he never knew what to expect from the people he was stuck on this ship with but they still managed to surprise him. 

Breakfast was short and comfortable, with Keith and Lance eating the first batch of malofruit desserts quicker than anyone had expected, thus forcing Hunk to make a second batch. 

“Leave some for the rest of the crew this time, will you?” Hunk had instructed bristly to the two of them as he set the second batch down in the middle of the dining table, and they both nodded seriously. As though they didn’t plan on divulging in the sweets as soon as Hunk was gone. 

But while Hunk was there, cleaning up the kitchen behind them while they both ate one last turnover, there was peace and quiet. 

Keith savored the flakiness of his breakfast while swinging his feet back and forth, and Lance did the same, only with his feet propped up against the table. 

“Lance,” Hunk said, once Keith had finished the last of his breakfast and Hunk had began clearing the table for him (despite Keith’s protests). “You better take your feet off the table before Shiro sees you like that.” 

At that, Lance moved his legs and feet from the table before moving them to Keith’s lap beside him, and Keith, caught off guard, began to wonder what this meant. Not for Lance or for him. But just in general. Do friends usually rest their limbs in each other’s laps, or was it just a Lance a thing? Or a _tired_ Lance thing? Keith didn’t know considering he wasn’t exactly notorious for his endless supply of friends, and quite frankly unsure if he wanted to know the answer to that. So he decided to press the conversation elsewhere before his head exploded. 

“Speaking of Shiro, I think I’m ready to talk to him,” he spoke, his hands resting on the soft fabric of Lance’s pajama pants, and the former blue paladin yawned. 

“Talk to Shiro? What about?” Hunk questions, taking a seat at the table, and Keith sits up. 

He wants to tell Hunk what’s on his mind and eating at him, because he can see the kindness and understanding clinging to the corners of Hunk’s face like teardrops. But the words get stuck somewhere on the journey from his brain to his mouth, and instead he says, “I don’t know, just see what’s up with him, I guess.” 

He tries to add more; tries to inscribe additional words into the narrative, because Hunk deserves to know. He _did_ just make him an amazing breakfast. Yet the words never come, so Keith only picks at the stray stitching in Lance’s clothes. 

“Oh,” Hunks answers, oblivious to Keith’s inner dilemma. “Well, I think he said he was going to go to the training room earlier today. Maybe he’s still there.” 

Lance offers to walk Keith to the training room, but Keith insists he’ll find his way and eventually he does. But a part of him wishes he hadn’t. 

Keith knows Shiro has always taken his training seriously, spending hours exercising or running simulations during his small slips of free time at the Garrison. So he expects to see Shiro doing the same as always. 

Instead, he finds Shiro resting on a bench, with his head down and buried against his tented up knees. The room is slightly dark, with the lights seemingly dimmed.

Immediately Keith begins to back out of the room, feeling as though he’s just walked in on something he’s not supposed to see, but he accidentally knocks over a shelf of plastic weapons and they clatter to the floor loudly. 

At this Shiro sits up and his black eyes lock on Keith’s with meaning, before he eventually relaxes and stands. 

“Hey,” Shiro says, and moves around on the bench to make room for Keith, before patting the seat next to him. 

Keith pushes his shades up into his hair, feeling sheepish, before taking a seat beside his mentor. 

There’s a beat of quiet; an ellipses in the room, before Keith realizes Shiro isn’t going to say anything. 

“So what’s up with you?” Keith tries not to sound demanding, because he didn’t come here to interrogate. (Okay, maybe he kinda did, but still.) 

“Nothing, really. Just...been thinking a lot lately.” Shiro’s voice sounds far off, like one of the stars outside of the solar system they’re orbiting, and Keith’s face hardens. 

“About me?” 

“No. Well, yes, but not just that. About everything, really.”

“Like what?” Keith presses, and watches as Shiro falters. 

“It’s not important,” Shiro eventually answers, his face turned up to the training room’s high ceiling and it makes the former black paladin fold his arms.

“It’s important to me if something’s bothering you, that’s why I asked. Why can’t you just tell me and let me decide for myself if I should care?” Keith snaps.

Something stormy passes across Shiro’s face before and his shoulders tighten. “Watch yourself, Keith.” 

“Shiro,” Keith pleads, tugging at the threads of his sweater. “I don’t know when I’m going to get my memories back, and that’s fine. But you can’t leave me in the dark. I already don’t know who I am or why I’m here with these weird people and _aliens._ You’re all I have and you’re missing an _arm_ and I don’t even know why! The least you could do is tell me what’s on your mind.” 

Keith thinks this might be one of his most vulnerable moments he’s had Shiro, and it eats him up inside. It makes him wish the floor of the training room would open up directly under him and swallow him whole just to let him save face. Especially when he realizes this moment might not be anything compared to the things that may have happened to either of them out here in space. Not that Keith would remember. 

“Keith…,” Shiro starts, resting a hand on his brother’s shoulder before sighing. “I just don’t want to burden you. You should be resting, not worrying about me.” 

“How can I rest when I’m busy wondering what’s going on with you?” Keith grits, trying to soften his words only for them to come out even harder. 

“I promise to tell you everything. Just not now. I don’t know what to even tell you because I don’t know what’s going on with me either. I’m just tired, Keith. I’m so, so tired.” Shiro removes his hand and hunches his shoulder, his face getting that far away look again. 

Keith wants to call bullshit- he knows when Shiro’s head is swimming and full of antagonistic thoughts, and this is definitely one of those times. 

But he hears the sincerity in Shiro’s voice and stops himself. He sees the age in Shiro’s face from his side profile and the contrasting shock of white hair against his otherwise black bangs, and suddenly he’s reminded of the things Shiro’s probably seen. He remembers vague mention of Shiro being captured and still being a strong leader and pilot during the impending war, and Keith wavers. He sees the unaddressed PTSD and anxiety that wrinkles the brain of a man who’s too wise for his age and too young for the things he’s seen, and Keith knows not to push. 

He sees that Shiro’s head isn’t swimming, it’s drowning. And decides that the best he can do is try to offer him a lifeline, even if his own ship is sinking. 

“Okay,” Keith affirms, bringing his knees to his chest and hugging them. “But promise you’ll tell me if something serious is bothering you. I know I’m not in the best condition right now, but you can always tell me what’s going on. You could never burden me.” 

“But I’m supposed to be the-,”

“You’re still human, Shiro,” Keith interrupts, already knowing what the black paladin is thinking. “And...and I don’t know? Just, don’t think that you have to do it all alone, okay? I’m here and so is everybody else.” 

Shiro closes his eyes before resigning. “Are you mad? That I can’t give you the answers you want?” 

“No. Just disappointed,” Keith admits. 

“Yeah,” Shiro agrees, scratching at the back of his head. “Me too.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Keith and Lance: discuss what dog breed Lance would be like a couple of furries  
> Hunk: I am very uncomfortable with the energy we’ve created in the studio today
> 
> (And yes Lance’s eyes are brown because fvck canon, this is dark eyes household. But if you don’t like that I’ll change it!  
> Furthermore sorry if the bathroom scene feels unnecessary, I just hate it in fics when they go on about their day without like,,, making it clear they showered and brushed their teeth first. Like how are you thinking about kissing your crush when you’re covered in sleep sweat, bitch that’s diSCoSTang anddbdjndf <333) 
> 
> Anyhows, hope you enjoyed this update! I feel like it was a little different than my usual “writing style” because I didn’t include as many metaphors and stuff as usual cause I already knew this chapter was getting long. If you have any genuine criticisms I am begging you to be brutally honest with me. I’m a big boy, I can take it lol <3
> 
> Double also, if you have any tropes you want me to include that you specifically like let me know and I’ll be sure to include them? This fic is a gift for you afterall, An man! 
> 
> Okay I’m sorry for talking your ear off, let me let you go jandnfnbd. Hope you’re having a good day! Xxx


	4. stay for the night (if it’s a lie, I wouldn’t mind)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Is it alright to feel this way so early?  
> And in my blood, all the sweet nothings  
> Fallin’ in love over night 
> 
> Didn’t mean to get this close  
> And I know I should probably go
> 
> -softly, clairo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey hey Anna! How ya doing girly pop? Hope you’re feeling good! :)  
> This chapter has cats, cookies, and a healthy dose of angst (although we may have differing ideas of “healthy dose” lol.)  
> Sorry if this chapter update feels a day late or a dollar short, I have the attention span of a corn chip and it took me a while to like? Whip this together and then format?  
> Also, as you may have noticed, this chapter is huge! Probably my longest?  
> But to be honest I’m like, kinda proud of it so I’m not mad. It just took a fat minute to edit. But now it’s done! So I hope you get a snack and enjoy. 
> 
> Also some hot tunes to listen to that I think match this chapter pretty well:
> 
> -Coloring by Kevin Garrett (That’s where the chapter name is from!)  
> -No Such Thing by Sara Bareilles  
> -There’s a Reason by Wet  
> -The Other by Lauv  
> -Softly by Clairo
> 
> Anyway, have fun reading!! <3

iv.

When Keith was twelve, he had had a crush. Well, a crush on something _outside of_ his everlasting admiration for mothman.

It was weird to Keith, really, for him to see something in a person beyond them just _being_ a person. It wasn’t so simple for him to grasp in his mind, but it was there: unlimited and unconditional adoration for someone. Even if it was dumb and left him with his stomach in his socks and his heart on his sleeve. It was undeniable, and he hated every second of it. 

But he’ll never forget the feeling. 

The part that stands out to Keith the most is the fact that it all had happened by luck; it was a run by chance’s six-sided dice and he’d lucked out and landed on jackpot. And, ironically, Keith had to thank his social worker for it all. 

One morning, about a week or so after his uncelebrated twelfth birthday that only marked another year of him failing to hit puberty to fit in better with his peers, Keith’s social worker Judey With an ‘E’ came into his shared quarters. 

Keith was supposed to be cleaning something or the other downstairs, but two of his house siblings (that were nothing at all like siblings, for the record) had paid him five dollars to do their math homework, and Keith wasn’t about to pass up on the chance to be able to afford ten bags of Doritos at the corner store. 

So in came Judey, ‘e’ and all, with her coffee breath and something-stained suit into Keith’s tiny room while he tried to figure out how to account for imaginary numbers on his borrowed graphic calculator. 

“Kogane,” Judey said, a hand on her hip and another gripping a Thornton’s coffee, while her briefcase was tucked under her arm. “Kitchen, now.” 

Keith rolled his eyes, but still slapped the _McGraw_ textbook sitting in his lap closed and shoved everything on his bed into his backpack (because a very important rule of thumb about living in foster care is if you don’t want what little you have to be stolen, you best keep it out of sight).

In spite of everything, Keith liked Judey With an ‘E.’ She was nicer than his last social worker, Mean Markus (not necessarily a creative nickname, but Markus didn’t deserve creative). But she wasn’t _too_ nice or chatty like Parrot Portia, who was so kind it was eerie and repeated everything to make sure he understood. Even though Keith always understood everything she said the first time he heard it. 

Judey and her stupid, unnecessary ‘e’ wasn’t like the other adults in Keith’s life. They didn’t want to heal him like he was some sort of patient of a broken-hearts hospital, but she also didn’t want to make his life a living hell. Or a _hotter_ living hell, considering Keith’s life had been hell since the day he became an orphan. 

She was upfront and impersonal, oddly reminding him of himself. At the end of the day, she just wanted to do her job and was always frank about that. Which was all Keith could ask for. 

“You know what time of year it is, don’t you?” Judey said once Keith had seated himself at one of the awkward kitchen counter seats, and she didn’t give him a chance to respond. “It’s time for me to assign you a new service-hour activity.” 

Every year since Keith was ten, he was given something to do to ‘give back to the community’ for an hour everyday afterschool. Keith didn’t think it made any sense for him to have to give back to a world that had only ever taken from _him,_ but he never said as much to anyone. He had a sinking feeling that his ‘community service’ was actually supposed to be punishment, considering the only kids at his group home who were also forced to participate in community services were the ones that tended to cause just as many problems as he did. 

And really he didn’t mind not having to go back to his group home immediately after school, because he never really looked forward to a house full of angry minors and an infinite list of chores anyway. 

He just hated that he had to keep changing his activity. He didn’t particularly like his last two tasks at the local church or at the food bank, but things changing only served to remind him that nothing in his life lasted for more than two seconds. It was like there was some greater force always hanging over Keith’s shoulders making sure he never got too used to anything- good or bad. It didn’t matter. Because God forbid Keith got to have something he knew well. God forbid he planted some roots anywhere, or even got the chance to. Familiarity was a privilege. 

Keith knew this; he’d known it for a while. So he sucked it up when Judey delivered the news to him, and graciously accepted a manila envelope from her briefcase that she offered him. 

“This is where you’ll be volunteering. It’s a cafe _and_ cat adoption center, how adorbs is that? And the bus route you’ll be taking is in there, too. If you’ve got any questions, ask Simon, he’ll explain things. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a season premiere of _Charmed_ to watch.” And just like that, Judey was slipping out of the door. 

Keith actually did have a few questions about some things, but he knew better than to bother Judey and he _definitely_ knew better than to bother his caretaker, Simon. Simon was the grinch if the grinch’s heart had grown two sizes smaller rather than two sizes bigger; Keith would rather clobber a scooter against his own ankle than to talk to that man. 

So Keith sucked it up, and that Monday he arrived at a small pet adoption center named Cups of Kitty with a small bout of nerves simmering under his skin. Not that Keith was the type of person to let his nerves stop him from doing the preordained. 

Soon enough, Keith had been greeted by the cheery hostess/receptionist and was guided to a backroom. 

“Amy and Lisa- they’re the owners- are out today, so I’ll just introduce you to their son, Jamie! Jamie, the new volunteer is here!” she said in an overwhelming rush as she opened the door to a room marked ‘Staff Only’ and entered, with Keith following close behind. 

Keith wasn’t the most agile person in the world, but it was hard to tell at that moment from the way his stomach immediately started doing flips upon seeing the scene in front of him. In the middle of a room that remarkably smelled like pet chow and coffee beans, there was a plump cat standing in the middle of a play area that took up most of the room. The cat meowed indignantly at the new guests entering the room, making Keith back up a little. But what made him even more nervous was the boy who had been brushing the cat, with an arm of tattoos and purple hair sticking out from under a baseball cap that read ‘Aliens Are Among Us.’ Keith was enthralled. 

“Chill out, Peppa,” the boy commanded at the large feline, and surprisingly the cat actually stopped its meowing. “Now where’s this volunteer?”

The receptionist moved a little away from Keith, her ponytail swishing every which way, and Keith’s face went bright red as he made eye contact with the stranger in front of him. 

“Oh, hey bud! The name’s Jamie.” Jamie offered Keith a fur-covered hand and, after briefly introducing himself, Keith shook it like it’d burn him. 

Keith stared at his shoes immediately afterward, and tuned out the talking over his head between Jamie and the overly welcoming hostess. 

“Well, Keith,” Jamie eventually said, once the hostess had skipped away and Keith had bored a hole into his already worn tennis shoes. “Why don’t you help me finish cleaning up my friend Peppa here and then I’ll show you around, huh?” 

Which is exactly what he did. From there, Jamie introduced Keith to all of the other volunteers and employees on staff that day, as well as the plethora of cats on the premises. 

Within a week, Keith had reluctantly decided he actually liked the atmosphere at Cup of Kitty. The cats were sweet, the snacks he was given for “tasting” from the bakery display case by Lisa were sweeter, and he felt like he didn’t _have_ to have his walls up at all times. 

The thing was, Keith had always resisted letting people reach out to him because he felt as though if he did, he’d definitely get hurt one way or another. But with Jamie, and everyone else at the center really, it was just a bit different. Keith was used to adults being nice to him, but from Jamie specifically it felt genuine. As if they genuinely wanted to be his friend rather than were making efforts to make him forget he was a tragic basket-case of an orphan. And that genuinity made all the difference.

It didn’t take long for Keith to warm up to Jamie until his thoughts of his fellow volunteer had solidified into a proper ember, and he couldn’t wait to get to his community service obligations every weekday. His first piece of info he’d been offered from Jamie was that Cup of Kitty had been founded when Lisa’s best friend had passed away early, leaving no one to manage her already popular cafe due to her lack of close family. Thus leaving the cafe to Lisa, who had taken liberation to renovate in order to address the lack of no-kill shelters in their area while simultaneously keeping her friend’s spirit alive. 

After that, the list of things Keith learned and experienced only grew longer. 

He came to find out that Jamie was a freshman at the local community college studying biology, Amy was a veterinarian that only came into the shop after 5pm (except for on the occasional cake special Fridays), and Lisa’s favorite part of her job was making cat-friendly bakes that could be shared with the entirety of the cafe, animals included. 

By the time winter break rolled around and Keith was at the cat cafe twice as often, Keith had been acquainted with all of the employees and all of the daily tasks, as well as some blooming feelings for Jamie. 

He doesn’t know where it came from, really. He couldn’t remember ever thinking of anyone in _that_ way before, but suddenly Jamie giving Keith nuggies and walking with him to the bus stop made his stomach swoop like fighter jets and his palms clam up like oceanic wildlife. 

There’d be moments when he was making macchiatos with one of the other workers or bejeweling a pet collar with Lisa, and he’d be getting a little bored or a little tired. And then in would come Jamie, offering to help or playing upbeat music to liven the mood and suddenly Keith would feel like Cup of Kitty was the only place where he belonged. 

These times came more and more often, until eventually Keith really did start to think of Cup of Kitty as the home he never had, or probably even deserved. And he knew that he could never tell Jamie or anyone else how weighted his heart was every time he’d walk into the adoption center and one of the cashiers would greet him and throw him an apron, but the high-fives and side-hugs and passing comments were enough. 

Keith didn’t need reciprocation or acceptance, nor would he ever expect it or dare ask for more than he already had. Keith was just grateful to have a place that was warm and open enough for him to love being there. He couldn’t find it in himself to risk ruining things by requesting to be loved back. 

Ironically, Keith didn’t have to do anything for things to be ruined. After six months of volunteering at Cup of Kitty and finally learning how to use the espresso machine, Keith was transferred to a different group home. Two-hundred and eighty-seven miles away. 

Keith likes to think it was his fault, really, because it was. He knew Simon was constantly looking for a reason to get rid of any of the kids at the group home, and yet he still fought with his house-brother when he began teasing Keith for being so excited to clean cat feces or make Americanos all day. He shouldn't have let it get under his skin; he knew that. But that cat cafe was the only source of serotonin Keith had had in years, and he couldn’t stand the thought of someone thinking it was okay to belittle what was so important to him. 

But it didn’t matter how important it was to him. That same night Keith had thrown punches at his house-sibling, Simon had called Judey and he was packing up his backpack for the closest group home that would take him. All the way in Tucson, Arizona. 

“C’mon kiddo,” Judey had said, running her acrylic nails against his scalp in what Keith thought was supposed to be comforting but really just made him want to cry more. “I’ll buy you a milkshake. I know you’re probably in a Big Mac mood, but my therapist says I need to stop eating my feelings, so so do you.” 

White Castle was closed that night, so unfortunately Keith never got his milkshake. And he never got to say goodbye either. Not to the cats, or the regular patrons at the cat cafe, or to Amy or Lisa. And especially not to Jamie. 

The former black paladin was exceptionally good at burying his feelings, especially as an adolescent. But things were simply different with Jamie. 

He wanted to bury the lingering thoughts he’d felt for the first and last time somewhere deep and untouchable in his graveyard of mistakes, but a part of him wanted to remember. A part of him wanted to hold onto the way Jamie’s smile would make the corners of his own cheeks turn upward or the way any unnecessary or accidental contact would make his stomach take nosedives into a pool of butterflies. 

He wanted to grip at these feelings tightly, like a bouquet of decaying flowers from a garden of heartache, so that he’d never forget what it was like to admire so thoroughly. Because that was the last time he was going to let himself get attached.

\- -

Keith found himself thinking of any residual disdain for close relationships, any hate for opening himself up to anyone in exchange for mutual honesty and understanding, that he might have that night after talking to Shiro. 

It wasn’t the first thing on his mind that night, considering there was a lot for him to think about at all times. And these thoughts didn’t come to him unprompted. 

The night started when Keith’s attempts at sleep ended, with him twisting and turning in his hospice bed for an hour or two only for him to realize that sleep wouldn’t be visiting him any time soon. 

So he slipped into his lion-shaped house shoes for the second time that day, and pulled on the red sweater he’d earlier removed only to get dejavu of his previous escapades with Lance just hours ago. Looking at the sunglasses Lance had loaned him that morning, a foreign feeling passed over Keith that set him on edge, and suddenly gave him a wave of determination to find something to do. 

He settled on giving himself a tour of the castle, wandering through the halls with only the stars and cyan colored fluorescent sconces to guide him for light. 

He passed a corridor of identical doors, and then doors that were much taller or thinner or wider. Some doors looked heavy, like a chamber of secrets, and were accented with strange markings and door knockers. While some were thin and modern, clearly slide doors and inviting. 

He walked past the open floor plan of the kitchen and then dining room, past where he’d met Shiro in the training room what seemed like days ago, and then into a side of the castle he’d yet to have reached before. (At least, that he could remember.)

In a large room that seemed to be a lounge of sorts, Keith saw a variety of seats; main of which being a couch with a complicated design, and an equally interesting coffee table in front of it. 

It isn’t until Keith decides to rest on the couch for a bit does he see that the room is already occupied by Pidge, with her sitting on the floor in a nest of blankets and pillows. She seems so invested in the laptop balanced on her knees that she’s tapping away at and the large bowl of what looks to be cookies beside her, she doesn’t hear or see Keith approaching and she drops one of her cookies mid bite when he taps on her shoulder. 

“Quiznak, Keith! Are you _trying_ to scare the living shit out of me?” she erupts upon turning to see his face, and Keith shrugs as he settles on the couch. 

“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.” 

Pidge pauses for a moment, taking her glasses and rubbing the lenses against her shirt before sighing. “No, it’s my bad. I guess having so many intergalactic enemies makes you jumpy or something.” 

She says it like it’s supposed to be a joke, but it falls flat and lays stiffly in between the two of them as Keith wordlessly crosses his legs into a pretzel while Pidge goes back to tapping furiously against her device. 

“Hey, Pidge,” Keith starts after a minute, leaning against the couch with a slight unease. “Can I ask you something?”

Pidge doesn’t bother to reply verbally, but rather pins a lock of hair behind her ear and looks at him sideways to show she’s listening. Keith grips at his legs, as if to brace himself, and winces at his own question before he even asks it. 

“Do you know Matt Holt? From the Garrison?” He almost feels guilty asking, because he remembers the last time he mentioned Matt was when he’d first woken up without his memories and had made the mistake of thinking Pidge actually _was_ Matthew. And Keith remembers the brief flash of anguish that crossed her face when he mentioned him. But it’d been bothering Keith since he had woken up, and he couldn’t stand the thought of being faced with Pidge constantly without knowing who she really was. 

Pidge’s already expressionless face goes stale, with her lips ironing together into a taught fixing and her eyes searching everywhere and nowhere in the darkness. For a minute the only noise in the room is the soft hum of Pidge’s laptop and the low rumble of the castle’s generators, and Keith almost retreats asking. 

“Yeah, he’s my brother. I’m his little sister, Katie Holt. But I went by Pidge at the Garrison and the name stuck.” She says this like she’s rehashing lines for a play she doesn’t want to be in, and she’s a horrible actor. Behind her owlish eyes Keith can see a pang of pain that isn’t meant for him to know about. 

“You were at the Garrison?” Keith asks, unsure of why he’s decided to push the conversation there but glad to mention something else. 

“Yeah,” Pidge snorts, going back to her computer. “I think I was a freshman when you were a junior, so I guess you wouldn’t remember me.” By the time junior year rolled around, Keith was throwing punches and getting himself kicked out of the Garrison, so Keith nods in understanding. 

He processes the information he’s just been given for a second, before straightening and then leaning forward. “I remember Matt talking about you, actually. He always used to say he thought we’d make great friends because we’re both so cynical.” 

Pidge’s ears perk up at this, and she types noticeably slower. 

“You knew Matt?” she inquires.

“Oh yeah. Him and Shiro were good friends, and he was always pestering the both of us. Sometimes he felt like...I don’t know, the weird uncle I never asked for. But he was really good at making me laugh even if I wasn’t in the mood.” 

Pidge seems to change in demeanor entirely, with her small frame twisting to see him a little better and her bony shoulders rising out of their slouch. 

“Yeah,” she agrees, her voice thoughtful. “He was good for that. Sometimes he was the only person I knew who could make me laugh and feel like things were alright, even if I knew they weren’t.” 

She sounds so distant, like she’s on an entirely different plane of thinking than Keith, that he doesn’t say anything right away. He simply traces the veins on the back of his own hand with his thumb, until he can gather the courage to ask his next question. 

“Where is he? Now, I mean?” 

Pidge doesn’t go stiff again, but rather comes back from her head and pays Keith an additional piece of mind. 

“Here, actually. In space, with one of the rebel forces. It’s hard to say which one, though, considering it changes a lot.” She takes a shuddery breath, and Keith almost tells her that she doesn’t have to continue. That he’ll probably remember everything she’s currently telling him anyway, so there’s no use in her forcing herself to rehash buried words. But she pushes on, pushing her glasses back. 

“But I just miss him still anyway, you know? Like, all I cared about back when I first became a paladin was finding my dad and Matt because I thought that was the only thing that could make me happy. And it did, I was happy to see them,” she says with a voice that resembles something belated and burdened, and he knows this is information that he didn’t know about previously. That these are words that she’s never uttered before. “Still though...I’m just not happy. I wish knowing that they’re actually, like, _not dead_ was enough but it just isn’t. I just want to leave and take Matt home so I could just see my fucking _mom_ for once. But I’ve got duties. I’ve got to be a paladin and he’s got responsibilities in this war, too, ‘cause it’s not about what we want. And I hate it.” 

Keith sees that Pidge is pushing to say more as she heaves a shaky, wet breath. He knows that she isn’t just filling in the gaps for him anymore; she’s purging the thoughts that have probably been eating at her for months, if not longer. And so he slips from his seat on the couch to lamely sit beside her and wrap a precarious arm around her thin shoulders. 

That’s all it takes for Pidge to push her laptop completely away from her and choke out a series of sobs. 

“Shit,” she cries while wiping at her cheeks, sounding angry at the world. Keith waits for her to get a hold of herself, and eventually she does but still presses her head against Keith’s shoulder like a worn out toddler seeking refuge in a parental figure. He understands the feeling, even though he doesn’t quite get the bravery in actually going to others even when you really want to, so he doesn’t question her or push her away. 

The room is silent for several beats, with Pidge only sniffling periodically and he thinks that maybe she’s on her way to falling asleep. But then her voice cuts through the air gently like safety scissors, her words Downy fresh and cotton soft. 

“You know what the worst part is?” she says, not really waiting for an answer. “Sometimes I’ll call Matt and he won’t pick up because he’s probably in a meeting or on a mission or something so I’ll just go to Lance, even if I never really had anything important to say. It’s like, after spending all this time in space he’s become my brother I guess. It’s just- it’s just they’re so much alike sometimes, ya know? But I feel so guilty afterwards because I’m replacing Matt without even trying and using Lance as some kind of sibling rebound and I know it isn’t fair but…” 

She doesn’t finish, or even make an attempt. Keith knows from the way she fully buries her face in his arm and his sweater grows wet that she’s kicked up a root that’s been growing around her heart for a while, and it’s too painful for her to press on. So he slips his arms around her fully and lets her cry herself out while he wrestles with himself to find the right words that’ll bandage the wounds he sees devouring Pidge from the inside out. 

“That’s not a bad thing,” he eventually settles, and she sniffles into his shoulder. “I...I get it, I think. I guess the reason Shiro has always been so important to me is because he kind of reminds me of what my dad was like. From what I remember, anyway. 

“And I know it’s not the same thing, but either way you don’t have to feel bad. You’re _supposed_ to look for...I don’t know, someone who can make you feel better when you’re feeling like shit and miss your family. That’s what this whole team thing is for, I think. Like yeah, we’re all fighting these Galra people or whatever but that’s not the only reason we’re here. Together. We’re _supposed_ to help each other get through the hard parts, so don’t feel bad for coping with missing your brother. None of us want you to feel bad for something like that.” 

Keith wishes he had something profound or moving to offer and that the road to him getting to the point wasn’t so rocky. But the message seems to reach Pidge anyway, because she finally seems to stop crying. 

“I’m sorry,” she manages after a moment, her eyes puffy and her hair disheveled. “I know it’s selfish to complain about stuff like that, when everybody misses their family like crazy and I’m acting like it’s just me. You and Allura don’t even have families and I’m just...bringing up all this family shit like a bitch.” 

Keith’s grip slackens around his friend, even though he knows she doesn’t mean any harm in her words. He hasn’t known Pidge for very long (or what he does know, he doesn’t recall) but he can tell that she’s just blunt and not one to sugar coat what she’s thinking. Even if it means the packaging of her words come with deliveries that leave something to be desired. Matt was right; they’re horribly alike, and it only makes sense that they’d inevitably become friends. 

“It’s okay to talk about something that’s bothering you, Pidge. Just because everybody else has problems doesn’t mean you can’t bring up yours,” Keith tries in an attempt to let her know what he’s thinking. Even though _he_ hardly knows what he’s thinking. “Besides, I do have a family. It’s you and Shiro and Lance and just...the entire team. That’s why it’s okay for you to see Lance as a brother and cry all over my shirt in the middle of the night. We’re all family, I guess.” 

He feels unsure after this admission, because he’s not sure where the thought came from. He admittedly barely knows anything about the people he’s stuck on this castle ship with, but maybe he’s known deep down for a while that these people are important to him and the feeling is mutual. That’s why, despite himself, he lets them cling to him and take care of him. That’s why fear only nips at him rather than sinks his head completely under a lake of uncertainty.

So Keith doesn’t try to fix what he’s said and try to take back. He knows it to be true. 

After a minute, Pidge sits up and pats him on the shoulder. “Thanks.” 

And like she wasn’t just crying, she ends up back on her laptop, though her typing is delayed and she’s a little less pinned up in her posture this go around. 

“What’re you working on, anyways?” Keith questions, because he’d honestly like it if she’d take a break and go to bed. But for all he knows she’s steering the ship via that little computer.

“I’m trying to work on an algorithm to figure out how much longer you’ll be without your memories,” she explains, her small fingers making loud _tap tap taps_ like a cacophony of coding. “Allura and I did a few tests on the space mice, and now I’m comparing the data to find a date for your recovery.” 

“You know you don’t have to do that, right?” 

“Yeah, but I want to,” Pidge explains. “It gives me something to look forward to.” 

Keith couldn’t exactly argue with that, though it disheartened him. He doesn’t want the conversation to fizzle out like a flat pop, so he tries his best to claw at his mind for something to say. 

“Um, Pidge,” he begins, once he finally thought of something. There was one particular memory, though faint, that he had of his first night in the medbay. It made him mentally choke to realize that it was only two nights ago. But even so, he wanted confirmation that it was real. That he really did hear that conversation between Lance and Shiro. “You guys said that I work for that spy organization, right? The Sword or whatever?”

“The Blade, yeah.” 

“Then what am I doing here? On this ship, I mean.” Keith scratches at the back of his neck as Pidge grunts. 

“You visit every other weekend. That was the agreement we made with your boss since, you know. We missed you and all that junk.” 

Keith isn’t sure what to make of her impassive tone, so he presses on.

“But it’s not even the weekend yet, is it?” 

Pidge turns to look at him, like she’s seeing that he’s piecing together a puzzle in his brain and she’s trying to make out the half-done picture before he even finishes.

“Yeah, it’s just now Friday,” she admits, looking at him sideways. “But you wanted to visit early this time.” 

“For Lance’s birthday, right?” 

And that’s what it takes to set her off. It’s as though she already knew what he was getting to, but couldn’t quite be sure. And now that he’s asked the question, the already lined up dominos have been set off and Pidge slaps her laptop closed.

“Who told you?!” she whisper-shouts, which is a feat to witness and Keith has to keep from laughing. “I’m serious! He made us all promise not to tell you, he’s gonna be pissed if he finds out someone told you!” 

“No one told me, I just found out,” Keith explains, and Pidge stares at him dubiously. “I’m serious. I just overheard him talking to Shiro and heard it in passing. I wasn’t even sure I heard him right so thanks for the confirmation I guess.” 

The green paladin gets riled up again and grabs a pillow from the den’s couch to hit at her former leader. “No! I didn’t say anything! I’m serious, Keith, he _cannot_ know you found out!”

“Why?” he questions, deflecting her hits, and she screams into the pillow briefly before answering. 

“ _Because._ He’s all sad about your memory loss and doesn’t want to celebrate anything and, like, kinda blames himself for what happened because you were only even here to surprise him and it’s just a big mess!” She flops onto the couch like her quintessence has been completely zapped from her body and she’s as unconscious as Keith was a few days ago, and he stares at her wondering for a few seconds. 

“That’s stupid,” he thinks aloud, and Pidge sits up with a start. 

“I know! That’s what I said! But he’s always sulky whenever you get hurt so there’s no getting through to him I guess.”

Keith can’t help the grin that slithers across his face at the thought of Lance so strongly caring about Keith’s well-being. It’s not exactly a revelation, considering he was able to deduce as much based on the way Lance was just... _Lance_ around him. He was so gentle, like Keith was fine china or porcelain at an antique shop. And yet he held on so firmly that night he held Keith’s hand, as though if he let go one of them would drift away into the expanse of space they lived in. 

He knew he was wrong to find such a silver lining in Lance’s turmoil, so he wiped the smile off of his face as soon as he met eyes with Pidge in the dark. But he couldn’t help the swirling in his gut. 

“That sucks. I wish he didn’t feel like that,” Keith rushes quickly, before Pidge can comment on his previous expression. 

“Yeah, but he won’t listen to any of _us_. You should talk to him.” 

“What? Why me?” he asks, somehow already knowing the answer. And Pidge must _know_ he knows, because she only arches an eyebrow at him. “I don’t even know what I’d say. ‘Hey Lance, heard you were feeling like shit, stop it so we can celebrate your birthday?’ I don’t think he exactly wants to hear that, coming from me or not.” 

“Maybe,” Pidge answers after shortly laughing. “But you won’t know unless you try. And even if he doesn’t want to properly celebrate, you could at least give him the gift you got him.”

Keith ears perk up at this, and he eyes the smallest paladin with piques interest. “I got him a gift?” 

“C’mon, you should know yourself well enough to know you’d have gotten your boyfriend a gift,” she tsks with a shake of her head. “It’s in my room by the way, along with all the other stuff you had when you got here. Including your knife; I know you were probably wondering where it was. You can come get it whenever you’re ready.” 

Keith feels his face warm, until it’s as hot as the desert sun of Tucson or the dirt roads of El Paso, and he’s glad it’s too dark for Pidge to see the blush he’s surely sporting. 

_Boyfriend_ ? He knew him and Lance must’ve been close, based on the way the red paladin pressed at his corners gently but tightly until there was a neatly-folded relationship between the two of them. He knew Lance cared about him, maybe a little more than he should. But how could Lance be his boyfriend? Whatever happened to him promising himself he wouldn’t get too close to anyone again, to save himself the heartache? And was he even _good enough_ for Lance? 

And why hadn’t Lance said anything sooner?! 

Keith doesn’t get to ask any of these questions before he hears a soft pair of footsteps and Pidge is twisting herself to sit up and see who it is. 

“Speak of the devil, here’s your boyfriend now,” she mutters to him, before laying back down on the couch. 

“Oh, hey guys,” Lance hums when he sees the two of them in the lounge, and plops himself down on the couch. “What are you two doing up?” 

“What are _you_ doing up?” Pidge retorts, and Lance pulls himself into a position that mirrors a discombobulated pretzel. 

“Well, I went into the kitchen to check out the cookie thingies Hunk made earlier, but the whole big bowl of them was gone! Can you believe that? Do you think maybe the mice ate them, bowl and all?” Lance explains, and Keith can’t help but smile a little. 

“You mean _this_ bowl of cookies?” Pidge questions, pointing to her bowl of cookies still resting atop her nest of blankets. 

“ _Pidgeon._ What are you doing hoarding all _four_ batches of cookies like some sort of heathen?” Lance asks through a laugh, mock-scandalized.

“Hey, when Hunk pensive bakes I pensively eat,” Pidge defends. 

“Why are you and Hunk feeling pensive?” Lance questions, only partial seriousness in his voice. 

“Why are you?” Pidge retorts, and Lance sighs. 

“Touché,” he answers, before his eyes eventually dart towards Keith. “Hey, stranger. Why so quiet?” 

Keith’s belly swells with a feeling that he thinks might rise out of his throat if he lets it, so he quickly shoves a cookie in his mouth to keep from saying anything. 

“Hey, don’t hoard like the green goblin over here. Sharing is caring,” Lance chuckles, and it strikes at Keith with a whip of astoundment that Lance can come off as so unbothered. Like his only real concern is solely Hunk’s bakes, and not the ongoing war. Especially if what Pidge had told him earlier was true. 

Keith finds himself seated between his two friends, with Lance taking the bowl from him and happily stuffing his face with one of the treats before his face twists into something unappreciative.

“This tastes like oatmeal raisin. How did my only true enemy follow me all the way to _space_? Where did he even get grapes, let alone raisins!” Lance says, setting the bowl of cookies on the coffee table, only for Pidge to quickly make a grab for it. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, these are delicious,” Pidge argues, and Lance shakes his head disdainfully. 

“They aren’t that bad,” Keith agrees, though he can’t exactly say they compare to the malofruit turnovers he had for breakfast. But still, a cookie is a cookie isn’t it?

“You can have the rest of mine, then,” Lance offers, and Keith blinks at it for all of approximately six seconds. “I promise I don’t have cooties.” 

At that the former black paladin accepts, if only to save from offending his friend, and bites into the snack with way too much thought. He can’t help but think of that thing kids used to say during his childhood about eating after someone is indirect kissing. Or maybe it was drinking. Or maybe it was both? Keith doesn’t remember, but either way it takes him a while to finish that damn cookie. 

In between nibbles, Lance makes himself comfortable on the couch, hugging a pillow to his chest and letting his head rest on the couch’s arm before eyeing Keith with a little more solemness than before. 

“So, how did your talk with Shiro go?” he asks, and Keith shrugs.

“Didn’t really _go_ anywhere. He didn’t want to talk.” 

“You talked to Shiro? About what?” Pidge questions, straightening a bit. 

“Nothing…,” Keith attempts, only for Pidge to give him a face that told him she was unconvinced. “It’s just...okay, I know I’m not filled in on everything or whatever but hasn’t he been acting weird? Like, he didn’t even want to talk to me this morning and- I don’t know is that normal for him? Do we not get along anymore?” 

Keith doesn’t mean to choke on his own voice, making him sound like an abandoned puppy or some sort of lost cause. But he can’t help but wonder about Shiro’s behavior. It was the reason he couldn’t sleep; nothing he’d gathered from his brother matched who he had known at the Garrison, and it scared him for what that meant of the future. The part of his life he didn’t remember. 

“Of course you guys get along,” Lance spoke up, letting his legs rest in Keith’s lap.

“But he _has_ been acting kind of weird lately,” Pidge finishes. “I thought maybe he was just stressed out. Ya know, about this whole Lotor possibly taking over the throne thing.”

“Or maybe he’s trying not to worry you? You know, in light of the recent situation?” Lance suggests, and Keith drums one of his fingers against Lance’s legs. 

“Yeah, maybe,” Keith mumbles, taking another bite of his snack. He isn’t convinced, or even close to it, but he doesn’t want to make a mountain out of an anthill. Besides, wouldn’t Pidge and Lance know better than him? Either way, he knows there’s no use in psyching himself out in the dead of the night. Like most of his problems, they’ll just have to wait to be addressed at a later time. 

In the meantime, Lance changes the subject by talking about his day without much prompting, and Keith does his best to listen. The red paladin speaks of how he took a nap, trained for a few hours with Allura, and then took a shower and watched a new show with Hunk.

“What was it about?” Keith asks, once the taunting cookie is eaten and so is his initial awkwardness about Lance being in the room. And it’s a good thing, too, because Lance scoots closer and begins to excitedly launch into the plot of _Love & Bip-Boh-Bop. _

Keith isn’t sure how he got here; with Pidge dozing off against his shoulder and Lance resting his legs in his lap, chatting away happily without needing much commentary. But he can’t think of a better way to spend his night. 

\- -

Keith guesses somewhere in between Lance arguing that Bi-Boh-Sasha wasn’t even talented enough to be on the show he was watching, and Pidge’s soft whistles turning into full blown snoring, he must’ve fallen asleep. 

Because one minute he’s murmuring soft agreements in Lance’s direction, and the next he feels a crick in his neck and a strong hand tapping at his shoulder. 

“Hey, Keefy, wakey wakey,” Lance whispers, and the softness in his voice almost makes Keith want to go back to sleep. “Help me put the gremlin to bed.” 

At this he sits up, and takes note of his smaller friend pressed heavily against his shoulder, seemingly dead to the world. 

In a matter of minutes, Lance has her tucked in his arms and Keith helps carry everything else out of the lounge area. Lance walks with him to leave the menacing bowl of cookies in the kitchen, and then he follows Lance to Pidge’s room. 

“Don’t touch my cookies,” Pidge mumbles in her sleep while Lance tenderly places her in her bed and Keith places her laptop and pillow and blankets in respective places. It doesn’t go unnoticed the way Lance lingers in her doorway for just a moment, before leaving with his head hung low. 

“She reminds me of my sister, ya know,” Lance mutters to Keith as they walk down the hallways of the castle. Keith thinks of how guilty Pidge had been to see Lance as her brother, and the irony almost makes him laugh. 

The two of them reach Lance’s door, but neither of them make a move to go anywhere anytime soon. As if a pin has been stuck in time just for them, and they’ve both taken up lingering as a hobby. 

“I, um-,”

“Do you-,”

They stare at the other with bare expressions, before they both chuckle with nothing short of anxiety. 

It makes Keith nervous to see _Lance_ all out of sorts, because what the hell does _he_ have to be nervous about? It makes him grow feverish at the thought that something is bothering Lance. Possibly something that he doesn’t already know about. It nearly makes him freeze up. 

Nearly. 

But he wants to iron out all of this boyfriend business, and he decides right then and there that he wants to celebrate Lance’s birthday as well. He doesn’t want there to be any wrinkles in the suit of their relations, and finds the courage in his voice to speak his mind. 

“I want to talk to you,” he says, and the former blue paladin nods. 

“Yeah, I want to talk to you, too,” he says, but then folds his arms. “But you aren’t too tired? I’m sure it can wait, maybe. Or if not I can just let-”

“Lance,” Keith exhales, and suddenly it’s quiet. 

Lance leads the way into his room, and suddenly Keith is taken back to that morning as he sits on the made up bed. Although it was noticeably lighter in the room. Lance turns on a lamp to make up for the lack of light and seats himself atop his desk while looking at the floor. 

There’s a moment of silence, with both of them gathering their thoughts, before Lance bursts at the seams with a blunt, “I’m sorry.” 

Keith frowns, confused, before the boy before him continues. 

“I know I’ve been kind of a bit much lately, and it must be annoying for me to be so...so _present._ It’s just that, I guess...I don’t know, I miss you maybe?” Keith can’t help the slight offense he feels upon hearing these words. It’s not like he can help it if he doesn’t act like the Keith that Lance is used to! He doesn’t even _know_ who that person is, for crying out loud! But instead of saying as much, he lets Lance continue. “Okay, it’s like this: every time you come around I can’t help but think of the fact that I only get to see you twice a month now. Which, I know I shouldn’t be complaining about considering a few months ago I didn’t get to see you at _all._ But I’m still stuck on that era of me being your right hand man. I’m still used to being able to talk to you whenever but now I can't...so I’m not sure how to go about trying _not_ to be at your side through this whole memory loss thing. But I’ll try, okay?” 

Keith stares at Lance, slightly confounded, and does his best to rewind the scene that just played in front of him in an attempt to understand things better. But his silence must disturb the former blue paladin, because Lance takes up talking again before Keith can find his words. 

“Was that too much? I shouldn’t have mentioned that last part, you don’t even remember that, I’m sorry. I just-I don’t know-I don’t want you to be uncomfortable but I don’t know what I’m doing either and-”

“Lance, shut up,” Keith says, scratching at his head as it begins to teem with thoughts that don’t match anything he’s seen or heard all day. He sighs, before adjusting his weight on the bed. “Okay, can you explain that again? I think you lost me.” 

Lance didn’t really lose Keith; he never had him to begin with. Nothing that Lance had mentioned in the past minute was adding up in his head, and it didn’t help that Lance was staring at him helplessly. 

“I just...wanted to apologize. For being overbearing.” Lance grips at the desk he’s perched on tightly, and Keith doesn’t realize he’s crossing the room in fat strides until he’s already in front of a pair of deep auburn irises. 

“When did I say you were overbearing?” Keith asks, genuinity dripping from his voice in thick drops that splattered against Lance’s ears, making him furrow his dark eyebrows and cast his gaze elsewhere. 

“This morning you said you didn’t need me so I thought...well, I didn’t know how to take it at the time but I was thinking and realized I _was_ doing too much.” 

If Keith were being honest, he’d already forgotten about what he'd said that morning. Hell, he’d probably forgotten what he said _moments_ after he said it. Everything that had happened that day felt like it had occurred _weeks_ ago, and somehow it didn’t feel relevant anymore. In fact, right then, the only thing that seemed relevant was the boy in front of him failing to meet his eyes. 

“Oh, Lance…,” Keith sighs, his disposition softening as he realizes that Lance nervously picking at the chipping paint job of his desk is _his_ fault. “That’s not what I meant.” 

“Then what did you mean?” Lance mutters, his eyes blinking rapidly under long, dark lashes but never leaving the floor. 

“I just meant,” Keith reaches for Lance’s hand, and grabs it before he overthinks it and chickens out. “I just meant I didn’t want you to feel like you had to go out of your way to watch after me. I- I’m used to being on my own, you know? I’m not used to the whole people caring shtick.” 

At this, the taller brunette looks at him, his eyes filling at the brim with an emotion Keith can’t identify. But whatever it is, Keith thinks he might be feeling it too. 

“So I’m not too much?” Lance tries, his voice resembling a cloud or something equally delicate. Keith’s able to see the shifting and parting of the sky that’s Lance’s face, and it encourages him to reassure Lance a thousand times over if it means the storm passes over completely. 

“No. If I didn’t want you around, I’d be very clear about that. And I think I’m getting used to this whole thing…,” Keith attempts to explain. Lance looks at him warily and Keith continues. “The people caring about me thing. It’s not that bad, I guess.”

Lance offers him a small smile and Keith smiles back, equally unsure. 

“Cool.”

“Cool.”

There’s a pause in the room, where time seems to stop ticking just for them and their unsteady breathing. There’s them searching for something unknown in each other’s eyes and clinging to whatever’s hanging in the air because even though they’re both taking a nosedive in a world of words left unsaid, there’s some familiarity in it all. Keith can’t speak for Lance, but he can’t help but feel a sense of dejavu. And he wonders if this is what their dynamic is really like; kindness in the daylight and unsure glances and feverish hand holding in the evening. 

It seems right, he decides. There’s nothing about the two of them that screams concrete and straight forward. Everything he sees in Lance speaks of nervousness and fragile marks that would never risk stepping on Keith’s toes. And if Keith knows himself well enough to speak of some sense of who he is with his memories, then things aren’t much different for him either. 

Not that he’s exactly complaining. 

After what seems like hours, Lance comes to tighten his grip in Keith’s hand and averts his gaze once more. 

“So...what did you want to tell me?” Keith hears from the boy in front of him, his voice barely audible. It catches him off guard, and he almost forgets to answer, because he can’t remember the last time somebody’s been so delicate with him. 

“I’ll tell you tomorrow,” he says, deciding that he doesn’t even know what he’s going to say. 

Where would he even start? By asking Lance about them apparently being boyfriends? Or Lance’s constant insecurity in himself when it comes to Keith? 

It’s not like Keith is exactly an expert in this sort of ordeal; him finding the right words was going to take _at least_ two to three business days. And maybe that was time he didn’t have, but he would rather be safe than sorry.

So when Lance’s eyebrows shuffle into a question, Keith doesn’t give him any explanation. Instead he says, “I’m tired. Can I sleep here tonight?” 

And suddenly Lance isn’t so worried about whatever Keith was going to say earlier. 

“You...yeah, yeah, sure,” Lance rushes, his eyes blowing wide and his words rushing into each other like attracted magnets. 

“Cool,” is the only warning Keith offers before he’s turning around and crashing face-first into the former blue paladin’s comforter and pillows. 

“Hey! _Chanclas_ off!” Lance cries, only for Keith to kick his slippers off and nearly hit Lance in the face. 

“Oh I see how it is,” he calls after switching his desk lamp off and settling in the open spot beside Keith. “This means war, you know that right? You could’ve caused a very serious injury to the moneymaker, you’re going to have to pay for that.” 

“You don’t scare me,” Keith murmurs into his pillow, failing to fight off his smile as sleep begins to pull him under. 

Keith thinks he’s safe, already half asleep and feeling the most comfortable he can remember being in...well, forever. The smell of cinnamon-citrusy blankets definitely beat the hard Garrison mattresses or the bleak emptiness of the medbay. 

But just when his breathing is starting to go even, he feels a shift of weight in the bed and a pair of large, brown fingers scrambling across his sides. 

“Lance!” Keith cries as Lance’s tickling grows more assured, and he tries to wriggle free to no avail. 

“Say you’re sorry,” Lance giggles as Keith fails to stifle his chuckles, and he’s sure he’s going to die from laughter before he even gets a chance to say the words. 

“Okay, okay! I’m s-sorry!” Keith manages once Lance’s tickling has died down a little, and the red paladin relents. 

“You’re sorry or you surrender?” Lance questions, and Keith begins to burrow himself under the covers away from Lance’s devil hands. 

“Both. Neither. To be decided,” Keith answers, already falling under again. Until he feels Lance’s chin resting in the crook of his shoulder and suddenly he forgets to breathe. 

“That’s not an answer. You’ll be speaking to my lawyers,” Lance’s voice drags, before he yawns and is back to his side of the bed.

Keith tries to cough up some witty remark or attempt to laugh, or _anything_ really, but suddenly he can’t. 

Suddenly he’s thinking of Jamie from all those years ago and the promises he made to himself after the fact. He’s left bargaining with himself for what feels like hours, unsure if he should abide by the agreements he made with himself when he was still in middle school or try to finally let his walls down. 

He can’t decide if he only wants things to be different now because he’s comfortable and he’s not thinking of the future, or because Lance is handsome and kind and just as unsure as he is and he knows that this person would never hurt him.

 _He’s crawled all the way to the other side of the bed, for Pete’s sake_ , Keith argues with himself. _If he has any ill intentions I don’t think it goes beyond stealing my breakfast and tickling me._

And then, as though it was there niggling at the back of his mind all along, Keith comes to realize that he’s already let Lance in. They’re... boyfriends. Allegedly. 

He isn’t sure what to make of that, but once he’s dead set on the thought of these things, he realizes he won’t be able to sleep until he gets a little bit of closure. Forget the two to three business days. 

“Lance,” Keith whispers, his voice just a slight tremor against Lance’s quiet breathing. Keith waits for a beat for Lance to answer, and when he doesn't right away, he inches into his territory and rests his forehead into the space between Lance’s shoulder blades. Normally he’d feel shy about the contact, but he decides something about the position feels like home. “Do you remember what you said this morning?” 

“Before or after you told me to fuck off?” Lance questions, shifting a bit, making room for Keith. 

“I didn’t- I said that’s not what I meant I just-,” Keith starts, only to cut himself off upon realizing Lance is being sarcastic. 

“Haha,” he mutters with an eye roll. “But, after that. When...you said nothing was bothering you when it clearly _wasn’t_ nothing? What was it?” 

He has a feeling as to what it is- maybe a bit more than a feeling. And he hopes that Lance gives him a little more than straws to grasp at, but he doesn’t get even that. 

“It’s nothing, like I said,” Lance exhales into his pillow. 

_Okay,_ Keith thinks. _Then I guess we have very different connotations on what ‘nothing’ is._

There’s hushed emptiness in the air as Keith gathers what to say, and before he can lose his nerve or let Lance fall asleep, he whispers, “Do you blame yourself for me getting hurt?”

Somehow he already knows Lance’s answer deep down. Not that he had any doubt on Pidge’s words, but he supposes he suspected Lance was beating himself about the ongoing dilemma that morning, which is part of the reason he didn’t want Lance fawning over him earlier. It felt like pity or guilt in some aspects, and Keith wasn’t about to let that fly by him. 

Still, even though he already knew Lance was boring a hole of guilt into his mind with his own misinterpretations and presumptions, his answer doesn’t hurt any less. 

“Yeah, I guess so,” Lance admits quietly, before quickly turning over to Keith with determined eyes. “And don’t even try to say anything about it not being my fault because, no offense, you weren’t even there. You don’t remember what happened and I do and...and it _is_ my fault, okay?” 

“Gee, how could I possibly take offense to _that_?” Keith replies dryly with an eye roll, and Lance kicks him under the covers.

“C’mon, I’m serious. I don’t want you thinking I’m around because I feel like it’s some sort of obligation because that’s not it, I’m around because I want to be...if that’s okay with you. But if you’re looking for somebody to be mad about this whole thing, it should be me.” Lance turns over again, pulling one of his blankets over his head, and Keith sits up by one elbow. 

“Lance, none of this is your fault. I may not remember everything but last I checked you weren’t even there.” Keith thinks back to his first two or three times waking up in the medbay; deranged and unsure and lost. And how there had been brief mention of Lance and Shiro being away on some mission. How could Lance have caused temporary amnesia halfway across the galaxy? 

“That’s just the problem though!” Lance argues with a start, his blanket sliding off of him. “I wasn’t there. I’m _never_ there. I wasn’t there when you got a concussion, and I wasn’t there when you almost got fucking _blown up_ trying to break down a stupid particle barrier.”

Keith blanches, his mind racing at a million miles a minute, and he feels like his mind is being catapulted into a swarm of information tearing him up from the inside out. And Lance must see this, the fear and confusion in Keith’s eyes even in the dark of the room, because he sighs and relaxes his posture. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to snap at you like that. I know I’m being weird and confusing, I’m sorry. It’s just...you’re always getting hurt, you know? And I guess that can’t be helped cause that’s just you. Even before this whole Voltron thing you were getting into trouble ‘cause that’s just how you are. And I don’t mind that.” He breathes a shaky breath before continuing, and Keith patiently hangs onto word, desperate for clarification. “But it’s still my job to look out for you. I save the universe; that’s the one thing I’m supposed to be good at. And yet I can’t even help the people closest to me.” 

Keith sits up, back against the headboard, and watches as Lance does the same. 

“Lance, I’m not dead.”

“I know but what if you were? Or what if you really did go into a coma? Or what if- if Lotor didn’t-”

“These sound like a lot of ‘what ifs,’” Keith interrupts, crossing his arms. “Don’t worry about what _could have_ happened. It didn’t, so there’s no point in dwelling on it. Besides, most of the team _was_ here when I got hurt and they still didn’t stop me from getting amnesia. Which is only _temporary,_ may I remind you. If they couldn’t help the situation while they were actually here, what could you have done?”

Lance is quiet for several moments, before eventually relaxing against his headboard. 

“I know you’re right. But convincing myself that you’re going to always be okay isn’t easy,” Lance whispers, and Keith grips the sheets under him aggressively as he sees Lance’s eyes glazing over in the dark. “It’s just, you were so willing to give up your life for team Voltron at Naxzela and it-it _hurt_ , damnit. I promised myself that I’d never ever let anything happen to you ever again because for a split second I was sure I lost you and I felt like I was _dying_ Keith. I thought back to all the times I should’ve tried harder or done better and I knew I couldn’t make the same mistakes again.

“And when Coran called me yesterday he didn’t say anything, you know? He just said you got hurt and ended the call and I felt that horrible sinking feeling all over again. And I was crying so hard I had to put Red on autopilot ‘cause I had fucked up on taking care of you. _Again._ I-,”

Lance doesn’t get to finish because suddenly there’s Keith with his arms wrapped around his neck, and there’s choked up sobs running in between the two of them. It takes longer than it probably should for them to get it together. For Lance to stop burying his face into the crook of Keith’s shoulder and for Keith to stop sniffling miserably. 

Keith just can’t help it; he can _feel_ the pain Lance is talking about. Just for that night, he lets that burden and that fear that sits on Lance’s shoulders rest on his as well and he gets it. He doesn’t know how or why, but he feels it vibrating against his chest and creating a cacophony of anguish. And so it’s hard for him to let Lance go. 

But when he does, holding him at arm’s length to examine the tear-ridden apples of his cheeks and puffy eyes, he decides he wants to hold onto this. This moment. He realizes this is a part of Lance that doesn’t belong to the future him or past him or the him he doesn’t remember. This Lance, opening up to him and _only_ him with soft eyes against heavy words, is his to keep against his heart in a fresh set of memories. 

“You gotta stop holding up the universe, Lance,” Keith sighs, and he watches as the paladin in front of him blinks slowly. With long, dark eyelashes as thick as bird wings and eyes as soulful as the everliving. “I’m not going anywhere. And neither are you. I know you’re scared, and I’ll probably never understand to what extent that is. But I know...I know that I don’t want you to feel like you’re accountable for me or anyone else but yourself. If you just take care of yourself then I’ll take care of me and then we’ll be okay, alright?” 

Lance looks at him with a questioning look, and Keith knows that those words didn’t land right. So he tries again. 

“Okay, fine, how about this: I take care of you and you take care of me and then we’re both good? That any better?” he attempts, and he watches as Lance slowly leans his head into the crook of his shoulder again.

“I think that’s hardly fair. Why should you have to take care of me when you don’t even remember me?” Lance mumbles into his shoulder, and then sits up abruptly before Keith gets a chance to respond and adds on, “And don’t even give me that _‘it’s just temporary!’_ stuff, you don’t know exactly how long that really is.”

Keith laughs a little heartily at Lance’s impression of him, slicking back one of the boy’s cowlicks, before shrugging. 

“I don’t have to remember you. I want to take care of you, even now,” he answers honestly, and takes note of how Lance goes still. 

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

“Cool.”

“Cool.”

“Peachy…,” Lance finishes, before burying his face in his hands while falling back against his mattress. “You’re gonna kill me, man.” 

“No, I’m going to protect you,” Keith retorts, confused. “I thought that was the clause in our terms of agreement.” 

Lance sighs with something that doesn’t quite reach a laugh on his lips, but it’s enough to make Keith’s stomach settle. For the first time all day.

“So why do you want to? Take care of me I mean?” Lance questions, his voice nothing short of doubt. Lance says these few sentences in a voice that’s low and barely audible, as though he doesn’t really mean to verbally free these thoughts to begin with.

But Keith hears them all the same and, as he settles back under the comforter and finds himself in a comfortable position, he asks Lance another question. “Why do you think?”

He waits for Lance to bring up the topic that’s been tearing at him for the past hour since Pidge mentioned his and Lance’s apparent... _relationship._ He’s practically dying for Lance to just confirm it. Or just give him _something_ that verifies or denies the claim. 

All because he knows he can’t bring it up himself. Not only would it be mortifying for him to just ask “hey, are we dating?” (whether they actually are or not), but he knows that if he asks he’ll come off as hopeful. He knows that deep down he wants it to be true. He knows that since he was little and his father bothered to tell him stories about his mom, he’s been dying to have somebody who he could love that much. Somebody who he could reminisce of the life he had with them after the fact. He didn’t need Lance to be something permanent; Keith knew that was a privilege, and he would never expect that. But pushing his head against Lance’s back feels like home and finding his hand under the blankets feels like puzzle pieces that were made for each other finally connecting. How could he not want Lance to be his rock? If only for now while stars and planets are all that surrounds them, or if only for a few months, or a few weeks, or just in this moment? How could he deny that deep-down-underbelly feeling that makes him hope that the real him was successful in finding someone to finally hold onto?

So he waits, patient as ever, for Lance to clear things up for him. 

But all he gets is, “I don’t know.”

He wants to call Lance a coward. Or kick, or scream. Maybe all at once. 

But he doesn’t, because he knows it’s him that’s the real coward and is too afraid to put the words out there. He’s scared of the thought of being denied what he reluctantly longs for, and he just can’t bring himself to admit it. 

He’s embarrassed, really; how could he be so invested in this tall stranger when he’s only really known him for a day? Never mind the underlying feelings of familiarity or the sense that Lance knows him and maybe he knows Lance as well. 

It’s still wrong, he decides, to want to be with somebody badly when you barely know them. Even if the said sense of not knowing them isn’t for forever. 

He swallows the gut feeling of wanting to bury himself in Lance’s space even further, and turns over. 

“Good night, Lance,” he mutters, biting back an overbearing feeling of something he can’t register. 

“Sweet dreams, Sym-Bionic Titan knockoff,” the paladin beside him yawns in response. 

Keith kicks him, and the last thing he hears before he lets sleep take him under is Lance’s soft laughter.

\- -

It’s a few hours later that Keith wakes up suddenly, blinking back tears as he thinks back on an uncomfortable dream he can’t recall the details of. He tries to recollect himself, feeling the sweat rolling down his forehead and the thrumming of his chest as nerves strummed at his heartstrings, all while he fought a pulsing headache. 

And then, all too quickly, he’s aware of the pressure on his arm as Lance’s face rests against his shoulder, in spite of all the pillows on his bed. He makes out Lance loosely hugging onto his arm, and suddenly he can’t breathe quietly enough.

He assesses the situation before coming to the conclusion that he can’t let this go on any longer. Before deciding that if he lets this go on- wakes up next to a warm body in the morning- he won’t be able to shake the feeling. 

He knows that he’s already too wrapped up in Lance, after just a _day_ of overexposure, and he can’t imagine what’ll happen if he doesn’t tightly cut off the circulation of whatever _this_ is. He doesn’t know the first thing about hand holding and bed sharing and confessions, and he can’t imagine this becoming a normality for him. He can’t imagine spending mornings beside Lance at the breakfast table and then nights in bed with tears spilling over, as much he’d like to. He’d _like_ for this to be more than a one time thing, and that’s what scares him. 

He thinks of Jamie and meaningless touches that mean the world to him and passing comments that stick to him like sickly sweet honey, and it sets his heart racing out of his chest. Keith wants the feeling of canon-balling into bliss and fear to stay with him, because it’s achingly bittersweet like the dark chocolate that matches the color of Lance’s eyes. 

But then he thinks of the aftermath. He thinks of the nights of crying and the aggravation of being helpless and the loneliness. And he knows he can’t go through it again. Wearing his heart on his sleeve was never a good look for him. 

So he wriggles out of the red paladin’s bed gently, trying not to miss the warmth and feeling of safety too much. He hears Lance stir, but by then he’s already walking away and heading back to the medbay while holding back a wave of emotions he refuses to let get the best of him. 

He bites down on heavy tears that he tells himself is just sleep-sweat or something in that vicinity. 

Keith shoves down a bucket of cold feelings and tells himself that he’s not trying to selfishly save himself from the inevitable heartache. He convinces himself that he’s saving Lance the trouble, because Lance _was_ right about Keith being reckless and fleeting. 

It makes the pain hurt a little less, at the thought that his running away is for Lance’s benefit, and he’s able to burrow himself in the medic bay covers with a little less ache in his chest. 

Still, he thinks of Lance’s kind, caramel hands and coffee-colored eyes framed by umber hair, and he feels like he’s suffocating. 

Keith doesn’t get much sleep that night. 

  
  


\- -

Keith isn’t the type to wallow in self pity and hopelessness like some lovesick teenage girl finding out her favorite pop idol is getting married, but the next morning he finally sees the appeal in moping. 

He’s acutely aware of the lack of Lance when he turns over in bed after waking up, and misses the smell of cinnamon and citrus when he turns over and shoves his face into his pillow. Keith screams briefly, hating every ounce of himself for depriving himself of the opportunity of waking up in a _super hot guy’s fucking toned arms._

And afterwards, he feels a little better, if only marginally. He remembers his train of thought from the night before, and knows he made the right decision. But it doesn’t make him miss the thought of a sleepy-headed Lance any less. 

Upon sitting up from his bed finally, he hears a soft _thwump_ against the floor, and he slips out of bed to see a disarray of things that must’ve fallen off of the edge of his bed. 

Keith bends over to inspect the pile, and finds a fresh outfit, his slippers, and a folded letter on top. 

Keith lets a gentle smile grace his face, assuming it’s Allura dutifully delivering a fresh set of clothes to him just as she had the day before, but upon opening the letter he finds that he couldn’t be more wrong. 

_Hey Keith-o Ren!_

Upon reading this in scratchy little writing, Keith immediately knows that this definitely isn’t Allura, and he can’t help but immediately keep reading. 

_Good morning. Hope you slept okay last night. Sorry if I was being clingy and made you uncomfortable...I guess I’m just a cuddler haha._

There’s another line after this, but it’s aggressively scribbled away in the ink of the pen, and Keith thinks of words left unsaid. 

_Anyway! I got you some more clothes from my closet since I have so many… You don’t have to wear it if it’s not your taste, though! I just noticed you’ve grown a lot since the last couple times you were here (but don’t get any ideas, you’ll always be a shortstack) so I thought maybe something of mine would fit you better._

_Also, we might not see each other today since I’ve got a cargo loading mission with Hunker Dunkers. Apparently Allura and Coran don’t want to stay in this solar system long because some of the natives have been rumored to be “aggressive,” so they’re trying to get lots of stuff done today._

_Try to do tons of interesting things while I’m gone so we have lots to talk about tomorrow!_

_Talk to you soon,_

_Sharpshooter_

Beside Lance’s signature he’s drawn a crude smiley face, and on the side margins of his writing there’s a doodle of a stick figure with a blaster in his hand. Or maybe it’s a breadstick...it’s hard to tell knowing Lance. But Keith stares at it for much longer than he probably should, and rereads the letter a few times before finally removing himself from the room and leaving to take a shower.

\- -

As Lance mentioned in his letter, he’s taken up a mission for the day to gather necessary supplies with Hunk on a planet at the outer rear of the solar system they reached last night.

Meanwhile, the remainder of the paladins are tasked with delegation duties, stuck with trying to convince the Junnigee nation to join their coalition. 

Not that it takes much coaxing. By the time Keith has left his shower and is heading to the kitchen, Pidge and Coran are entering as well for an apparent “late brunch.”

“Where were you guys?” Keith questions while Coran begins whipping together some goo concoction, causing Keith to quite honestly lose his appetite.

“At the Junnigee castle. We’re on Junigenia, by the way. In case you hadn’t noticed the castle has landed,” Pidge helpfully supplied, and Keith furrowed his eyebrows. 

“Of course I noticed.” He had not noticed. 

“Yeah, well,” Pidge continues, disbelieving. “We were delegating with royalty while _you_ were sleeping the day away, and they were actually excited to join the coalition. They’re apparently already preparing a celebration for us and everything. How cool is that?” 

Pidge kicks her feet back and forth excitedly as Coran hands her a glass of juice, and Keith tries his best to make sense of the information he’s just been offered. 

“It’s not a celebration for just _us_ , number five. It’s a celebration of the thus far success of Voltron and the overall disembodiment of the Galra empire. Besides, nothing is set in stone. Shiro and Allura are still deliberating and fine-tuning the finer details of everything,” Coran adds on, handing Pidge and Keith bowls of what reminds Keith of green eggs, and he eats a bite out of politeness. 

“Yeah, but, the party’s on Lance’s birthday. Isn’t it nice that Lance gets celebrated afterall?” Pidge says in Coran’s general direction. 

Coran sighs then nods. 

“Yes, I suppose the timing is rather convenient. And I do think-,” Coran cuts himself off and eyes Keith warily, then Pidge.

“I figured it out,” Keith manages, and Coran sighs. 

“Very well then. I worried number five may have ‘spilled the beans’ as you kids say. Now, if you excuse me, I have lots of work to do.” Coran files out, a bowl of sickly neon gloop and a glass of juice in his hands. 

“He’s just going to watch _Love & Bi-Boh-Bop _I bet,” Pidge huffs, pulling a cookie out of her shirt sleeve and Keith laughs. 

After breakfast (or brunch, depending on who you ask), the two of them make their way to Pidge’s room. Keith hopes to get ahold of his belongings from her, and she demands his help on one of her latest projects in exchange. It’s a win-win experience. 

As it turns out, Pidge only really needs him to hand her tools and bites of cookies while she tinkers away at what she claims to be Lance’s birthday gift, and Keith fiddles around with his knife in between. 

“So,” Pidge says as she screws something into place, then unscrews it and moves a different piece around. “That outfit looks awfully familiar.” 

On instinct, Keith looks down at what he’s wearing only to be reminded that today’s get-up includes a slightly oversized blue tee and a pair of gray sweats. With his slippers, of course. 

“Um,” he starts, not really knowing what to even say in response to Pidge’s comment. “Lance is generous, I guess.”

“Yeah. So I’m assuming you talked to him last night?” Pidge pries.

Keith twists in his seat. Seeing his nervousness once she actually bothers to look up, she sighs before taking a cookie from the bowl beside him at her work station. “Not trying to instigate or anything. I just want you two to be happy.” 

“I think we’re fine,” Keith tries, because Lance didn’t _seem_ upset in his letter. 

Remembering the letter, Keith reaches into the pocket of his borrowed sweats and runs his fingers over the corners of the paper where it sits lonely in his pocket. He smiles a little, in spite of himself, and decides he’s probably a little happy, too. 

It seems like he’s come out of this maybe-probably-not-sure boyfriend thing unscathed, and that’s good enough for him. Especially if this limbo that he and Lance are stuck in includes clothes-swapping, and he gets to bury his nose in the collar of Lance’s shirt to take in the smell of citrus he’s gotten so used to. 

“Well,” Pidge says, taking an aggressive bite of her cookie and kicking him out of his daydream. “When you _know_ you guys are fine, let me know.”

\- -

Keith decides not to let Pidge’s words bother him too much. Sure, they nip at him for the remainder of the day and they feel like an itch he can’t scratch. But he doesn’t let it get the best of him. 

When he thinks no one is looking he runs his fingers over the letter in his pocket, and that’s all the reassurance he needs. At least until the next time her words and condescending tone start to fester in his mind again. 

And it’s easy to not think too hard about what she must have meant or why, because he makes himself busy. 

After all her cookies are eaten and she thinks she’s got the actual construction part of her gadget down, she relieves him of his duties in helping her for the time being. And it doesn’t take long for Coran to whip him into a flurry of chores. 

They start with cleaning the lounge, then scrubbing the cryopods, and then eventually emptying the fridge of its disposable contents to make room for whatever Hunk and Lance bring back. And if Keith and Coran come across a hidden batch of malofruit turnovers and eat two or three or five, then that’s _their_ business. 

There’s more, obviously, to be done afterwards. There’s cleaning the observation deck, testing the intercom system in every room, and cleaning the bathrooms. But Keith can’t even complain. 

He decides, in spite of the fact that nothing Coran says makes complete sense to him, he enjoys the older man’s company. He’s full of stories that are so interesting Keith doubts the legitimacy of the tales, and the man also hums and sings when he’s not telling of the time he nearly got killed by something or the other. 

Coran isn’t exactly the most talented singer, but Keith finds that if he tunes out Coran _just right_ but not completely, it serves as nice white noise that keeps him from hearing Coran’s poor rendition of the Altean national anthem while also keeping any unwanted thoughts at bay. 

By the time Allura and Shiro arrive back at the castle, both looking bedraggled but bearing gifts from the Junnigee royalty, Keith is too tired to have any current worries and stresses. 

“We’ve all had a long day I’m sure,” Allura chimes after dinner. “Why don’t we all settle in for a nice movie? That way we can all wait up for Hunk and Lance to return.” 

Shiro excuses himself, claiming to be too tired, and Keith and Pidge share an equally thoughtful look. But neither of them say anything as the remaining Voltron team settles into the lounge for an evening of comfort while Allura ques up a movie. 

And before he knows it, Keith is relaxed. Something about the entire affair feels comforting, and he really starts to feel like maybe he does have home. That he _does_ have a family. 

But the feeling is fleeting. Because halfway into the movie, when one of the aliens are in the middle of a monologue about why they’d never cheat on the secondary lead and why they’ll love them always, an alarm goes off on the intercoms and they’re all bolting up from their seats. 

On the observation deck Allura is already tying her hair up with Coran typing meticulously at one of the main dashboards, and Keith is left with whiplash at how quickly things changed in such a short amount of time. 

“It’s a distress signal from the yellow lion!” Coran informs just as Shiro arrives on the scene as well, and everyone gathers around the large monitor while Coran opens a call from the yellow lion’s transceiver. 

“Hunk! Status report?” Shiro calls, and Keith finds himself toying at his knife nervously.

“The Jorlan planet? Inhabited! And these fucking, um, things?! And oh my God-! Th-they-,” Hunk wheezes, his voice shaking on every syllable, and Keith’s heart hammers in his chest. 

“Hunk, take a deep breath. In and out, count to ten,” Allura instructs, and Keith vaguely registers Pidge reaching out for his hand from behind him. Nothing really feels clear or real in that moment, because he’s got an overflowing bowl of that _something something something_ pooling over in his gut. Flowing to his shoes and making every cell of his body stand on edge. He doesn’t think he can take the anticipation, but he can’t get himself to move or speak either. He’s just barely breathing, every breath belated and fear-ridden.

After Hunk inhales and exhales a few times, he speaks a little less sporadically. But his tone isn’t any less scared or anxious. 

“Guys, it’s Lance. He’s hurt.” 

The words are so simple, so clear, so _crisp._ And yet Keith can’t wrap his hammering head around them. He can’t understand them as his senses go bleak and then black, and they certainly don’t make sense as his migraine flashes behind his eyes so violently he has to close his eyes completely. 

He stops breathing and holds his breath. Because whatever's pooling over in Keith, floods his body completely. And suddenly he’s drowning. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :)))) yeahhhh
> 
> I’ve always wanted to write a cliff hanger because I’m dramatic and love the implications of suspense, so hell yeah. 
> 
> Am I evil for this chapter? I don’t know to be honest. I know this is supposed to be “klance” centric but I’m the kind of person who reads 80k slowburn and doesn’t want the characters to so much as look at each other until the very end, so bear with me! It was hard to allow them to even hold hands lmao.
> 
> Also? I hope I’m not characterizing the characters poorly/weirdly? I wanted to change up some things from canon like nobody but Lance noticing Shiro being a freaking CLONE and stuff like that.  
> Plus I didn’t want Keith to be /too/ nice to Lance because this IS Keith after all and whenever people write him as super soft and good with words in their fics I’m just like haha who tf is this. So yeah he may come off as a little passive at times but he’s obvi soft in his inner monologue Ajdbdibf. 
> 
> Anyway, can I just say...tbh I love the platonic Kidge and sibling Pance dynamic in this chapter I just- <333 
> 
> My only complaint is there wasn’t enough Allura. But there’s never enough Allura, so I’ll try to focus on her more next chapter! Which will be EASY cause I already know what I’m gonna WRITE and it’ll include more bonding moments with the team!! At least that’s the plan, don’t hold me that lol. 
> 
> OKAY IM DONE TALKING LOL.
> 
> Next chapter will probably be up...soonish. Maybe next weekend tbh because I probably won’t have time to write during the week or this weekend all that much. Unless I make chapter five shorter and upload Sunday/Monday? 
> 
> Whatever idk, we’ll see. See you Anna! Xxx
> 
> (Fun drinking game while you wait for me to upload: count how many times Lance says sorry. JK, you’ll die lmao <3)


	5. when i am yours (when we are home)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> cause every house looks the same in my dreams  
> every house feels like home for a couple weeks  
> i been runnin’ ‘round try’na find a place where i can breathe...  
> home is wherever you are tonight
> 
> -apple pie, lizzie mcalpine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey hey Anna! I hope this chapter finds you well!  
> I’ve had a /very/ long week that honestly kind of sucked so I didn’t have a lot of time to write this chapter, so I’m sorry in advance if this feels rushed? But I really didn’t want to wait another week to upload this so!! I’ve been writing nonstop since Friday and in my opinion it’s been worth it!! I just hope I can buy a coffee soon because after three all-nighters in a row I basically need a caffeine IV. 
> 
> OH! Also, I wanted to say THANK YOU to all the people who have actually been reading and enjoying this fic?? That’s honestly crazy to me and super unexpected so wow! I appreciate all the hits, comments, and kudos so much! I know I’m not popular or anything but like...I was expecting 50 hits maximum because I genuinely thought the klance fandom was dead and nobody would want to read a new Voltron fic in 2020. And yet here we are. <3
> 
> Also, I’m sorry I didn’t immediately reply to comments as soon as I got them, I was honestly kinda nervous about interacting with others regarding my writing because I’ve always been super insecure about my writing style! So for some reason I thought the comments might be mean lol. But everyone who has commented thus far is so sweet and totally motivates me to write more, so thank you so much!  
> So yeah, please enjoy to everyone who isn’t my friend Anna! Much love <3333

v.

Somewhere deep down in Keith Kogane, in a successfully hidden area of his heart and mind cast under a myriad of shadows and suppression, Keith knows what love is. 

It would come as a surprise to anyone, really, with Keith at the top of that list. Keith is an expert in many things, like cold stares that can silence a room and masterful sword fighting that mirrors dancing with death. He’s even good at drawing illustrations on scrap pieces of paper when he thinks no one is looking or singing old theme songs to the cowboy oriented shows he used to watch with his dad on their cheap TV with only five channels. 

But of all the things he’s great at, or even fairly decent at, knowing about love would be anybody’s last guess. What would a socially inept orphan with trust and anger management issues know about intimacy? About hand holding, reciprocated feelings, secret swapping and holding exchanges close to their heart?

Not a damn thing, Keith had thought. For what was the greatest majority of Keith’s life, he had been convinced that he really knew nothing on the subject and never would.

It seemed obvious enough. Foster children that get passed around like the unwanted peas at Thanksgiving dinner and grow out of the system don’t get to experience what it means to have a family. Queer boys who never felt comfortable in their own skin to admit who they were outside of to themselves in the bathroom don’t get to experience romance. And hurt people who push everyone away to avoid getting hurt even further don’t get to experience friendship. So it’s no wonder that Keith wouldn’t know anything about these topics. 

At least, not on the surface. 

He seems clueless on the outside and, as far as he’s concerned, he’s clueless on the _inside_ as well. 

But a little further than that, once you get past the boxes of childhood trauma collecting cobwebs and broken frames of heartbreak littering the attic of Keith’s inner being, you’ll find a little keepsake of a memory that Keith’s nearly forgotten completely. 

As precious as an heirloom and as fragile as the porcelain ballerina of a music box, there’s a memory of Keith and his father when he was five.

It’s so long ago- from a faraway time in his life when he was still naive and thought the world was just made up of him and his dad and _The Rifleman_ on TV- that Keith doesn’t think about it. Ever.

But the memories are still there.

It starts as simple as this: one day on a Saturday, when Keith is home alone while his dad is away on one of his weekend morning shifts and their neighbor isn’t around to watch over Keith, he comes across a box in their flat’s closet. 

There’s only so much to do in a flat that’s composed of a kitchenette, a bathroom, and a pull-out with a half-broken television in front of it. So Keith learned long ago that if his dad isn’t home by the time Saturday morning cartoons are off, he gets free range of their small space. It’s only fair, really. 

His original intentions had been to find a box to make a spaceship out of. But by the time Keith had stacked his dad’s encyclopedias (he collects an encyclopedia every time they move, because Keith likes the pretty pictures and his dad likes discovering new words) on top of each other and found a fairly big box, he realizes he’s a bit in over his head. 

Finding a box was one task, but getting it down is completely different. Stacked books aren’t exactly a sturdy ladder, and Keith isn’t exactly strong as a kindergartener, so once he pulls on the box that’s actually heavier than he initially accounted for, he’s tumbling over with the box coming down after him. 

It’s at that exact moment, with Keith lying on the floor in front of the apartment closet and books and the box’s spilled contents surrounding him, that his dad walks in from work. 

Keith doesn’t bother getting up from the floor, because he’s certain he’s in trouble and would rather fake his death, but then there’s a pair of big strong arms scooping him up and he’s in his dad’s arms. 

“Keith, what are you doing?” Takayuki Kogane asked, his brow twisted in a way that’s more of a Kogane trademark than anything else. Keith doesn’t know it then, but years later he’ll be making that exact same eyebrow furrow and it’ll confuse people on how he can scowl like that with _just_ the sharps of his thick brows. 

Right then, five-year-old Keith is more concerned with the donuts his dad brought home on his way from work that have been set on the kitchenette’s tabletop. 

“I’m about to eat breakfast,” Keith affirms, trying to wriggle free from his father, but the man holds tightly and hardens that disapproving look.

“Let’s clean up this mess first, yeah?” he asks, though Keith knows it’s not really a question. The older Kogane sets his son on the floor, and sooner than later they’re working together to clean up the mess Keith made. 

It’s mostly a matter of cleaning up old out of season clothes and nicknacks that have fallen from the box, but while his dad is putting his encyclopedias in their designated place under the couch, Keith comes across a Polaroid photo sticking out of the side pocket of his father’s old jacket. 

It’s worn at the edges and there’s a crease striking across it that’s discolored the halfpoint of the picture, but Keith knows it’s important as soon as he sees it. He immediately settles on the floor to examine it closely, navy colored eyes swallowing the contents the photo has frozen in time while his small pale hands grip it tightly. Like the picture might disintegrate right in front of him if he doesn’t value it for what it is. 

And his theory of its importance is only solidified when his father bends over his shoulder and sighs. 

“That’s you, ya know,” his dad explains, and Keith’s brow furrows, an art he’s already picked up from his father. 

“When?” Keith questions quietly. 

The child in the picture is nothing but an infant, straddled by a version of his father that looks less tired and a lot more happy, as he leans against his old red truck and stares at the baby in his arms with admiration. Keith doesn’t exactly understand the process of growing up or how babies work, but it’s hard for him to grasp onto the idea that he was so small once upon a time. That there was a point in his existence where he had a flushed, pruney face and his black mane was nothing but tufts. 

“About a month after you were born, I suppose,” his dad guesses while settling on the floor beside his son, and Keith stares at the picture until he thinks his eyes might bleed. It unsettles him, really. He doesn’t know what it is, but something about the picture doesn’t make sense to him. It takes a while, but eventually it clicks. 

“Who took this?” Keith asks, stumbling over his words a little. He’s unsure, as he was with most things at that age, but last he checked his father never showed up in photos from his Polaroid. The pictures were usually landscape, or pictures of Keith occasionally. Not that he gets to see these pictures often.

Takayuki hesitates, before eventually picking up his son and placing him dutifully in his lap. As though there’s no other place in the world Keith should ever be. When he’s got him wrapped in a hug, Keith knows the answer isn’t one his father wishes to verbalize. It’s hard for him to understand so young, but his dad had that stern look on his face like something’s harming him mentally and he isn’t sure how to medicate the pain. 

“Your mom. She liked taking pictures of you. She was kinda obsessed with you, I think. Like she couldn’t believe you were real,” Keith’s father says with drops of fondness in his voice. 

These words don’t hit Keith like they would have if he heard them later in life; at five-years-old it hardly bothers him that he doesn’t have a mom. His dad had always felt like enough, even though he really wasn’t. At five-years-old Keith has yet to be told that he’s incomplete or tragic without a mother, that his single father raising a child he doesn’t know what to do with is something to be ashamed of. 

So when Keith’s father says this, his heart doesn’t ache or long. It settles, firmly, with curiosity and nothing more. Because he can’t be sure what a mother really _is_ at that point, and so he doesn’t miss something he doesn’t have. Not quite. He simply wonders what it is that could’ve been. 

“My mom?” Keith asks, his small thumb running over the laminated picture.

“Yep,” his father answers, resting his chin on his son’s head. 

“Where is she?” There’s a pause, and Keith wonders if his dad has fallen asleep while holding him. He does that sometimes, after a tiring shift at work. Like Keith is his sentient stuffed animal rather than his child and is all he needs to quickly fall asleep.

But when Keith turns to his father, he’s awake and blinking. And undeniably sad. There’s hints of remorse in his eyes, pooling over as the man’s blinking quickens. And Keith doesn’t know what to make of this so he simply frowns. 

“I don’t know, kiddo,” he eventually answers. “She left. A long time when you were still little. She packed up her pictures of you one day and was gone.” 

Keith has never seen his dad cry, and he’s certain he never will, but if he ever thought otherwise it was in that moment. He’s never seen an adult look like they’re hurting so bad, and Keith tries to find a tangible measurement of pain to equate the moment to. But the only pain Keith knows is knee skimming or being told that there isn’t enough money in the budget for his dad to buy him the hippo plushie he saw at K-Mart. So Keith doesn’t really understand the gravity of his father's feelings. 

However, he does know that hugs make everything a little better, so he twists his small frame and offers his dad the best hug his small arms will allow. 

“I’m sorry, Keith,” his father mumbles lamely, while Keith is still gripping the photo and doing his best to evaluate the situation in a way that makes sense to him. 

“For what?” Keith asks. 

“For letting your mom leave, I guess. I know you must miss her.” 

Keith lets go of his father’s neck before scrunching up his small face. “I don’t know her.”

“You can still miss someone you don’t know,” his dad shrugs. “I don’t think I really knew her all that well, but I know I loved her. And miss her everyday.” 

His dad stood after that, as though he’d reached his limit for talking about things that make his stomach ache in odd places, and his heart hang low to the soles of his work boots. But Keith was still curious, so he pried. 

“What’s love like?” He doesn’t know why _that’s_ the question he asks, but he isn’t really sure of what he even wants to know. He just wants to know it all, maybe. He wants to know about his mom and his dad and himself. He wants to know why his dad almost cries at photos and why his father seems regretful where Keith’s content. He just doesn’t know how to find the words. 

“Love? I don’t think I’d even know about that one, bud,” his dad laughs a little tired, taking a donut from the bag he’s brought home and handing it to his son.

“But you said you loved her. How’d you know?” Keith is surprised at the determination in his own voice, but once it’s there he realizes maybe he does miss his mother. At least a little. Though he isn’t sure there’s anything to miss. 

Maybe “miss” isn’t the right word. What he was feeling was more like a need. Needing the security that came with knowing she was real and loved him and not just something that was imagined. That there’s a whole other half to his genes and that half is proud to have been a part of him. 

He didn’t have that knowledge or reassurance, and needed it so badly from his father. 

His dad thought for a moment, before grabbing his own donut and taking a smile bite. “I guess…,” he started. “I knew because I always wanted her around. I wanted her in my life, but not to hold onto. I wanted her here as someone that didn’t need to be tied to me but rather just...a home she could always come to at the end of the day. She-,”

The man stops himself short when he sees the confused eyes of his only son, and chuckles to himself. 

“I’ll explain when you’re older. I think you’re too young to understand.” 

“No I’m not!” Keith protests, but his dad only shakes his head before making himself a cup of instant coffee and passing out on their couch after breakfast. 

Later Keith prodded him about what that home part meant, and his dad sleepily tells him home is where the heart is. And that he wanted her heart to be with him. 

In the coming years, there will come to be quiet days at their shared flat or in motel rooms or inns, and the rain will patter while Keith’s dad dozes off. And on these nights, quiet and cold but comforting, Keith will find his way into his dad’s lap and ask him to tell him more about this. About the details of hearts having homes. 

“They’re not houses,” the older Kogane chuckles when Keith makes the implication one night, and Keith frowns in uncertainty. “Home is just...it’s a feeling. It’s feeling safe and happy and like you belong, I guess. I don’t know. I’m not sure why you ask me these things, squirt.” 

After that Keith decides he wants his heart to have a home, too. And he wants to be a home for someone as well, though he isn’t entirely sure what that entails.

Now, all these years later after Keith has nearly forgotten these moments with his father completely, he suddenly remembers them. 

The things his father had once told him, on broken box springs or the beat-up seats of his truck, hadn’t seemed all that relevant up until then. Up until his home is face-to-face with death and he has to do his best not to fall apart upon seeing Lance in a condition that hurts him so far past anything he’s ever known to be real. 

It’s not a _feeling_ , physically or mentally. It’s a shadow over his shoulder and a swallowing of his heart. It’s a longing and desire while simultaneously being held back by something that isn't concrete or substantial. And it burns him to no end. 

He thinks he might faint when he sees Lance being held bridal-style in Hunk’s arm, running out of the yellow lion’s mouth with thudding footsteps. He’s sure he might puke when the blood covering the yellow paladin registers, and he sees the missing breastplate in Lance’s armor, with an angry arrowhead sticking out of Lance’s abdomen. 

At this he decides he can’t take it, and hightails for the nearest bathroom before emptying his stomach. 

He tries to get a better grasp at reality as the world goes gray, and then melts like an aging candle. But he can’t help but heave and let his guts wrench, making him feel even weaker somehow. 

All he can think of is his father’s words from his imperfect childhood. The words were lost on him for such an essential portion of his life, but now they’re back and as relevant as ever. 

He’s finally found his home, and somehow it’s already caught aflame. 

\- -

It takes several hours for Keith to become a functional human being once more; with the word “functional” being subjective.

But eventually he exits the bathroom, and Coran discovers him with a crease in his forehead and a mark of stress caking his eyes. 

“We’re about to debrief, if you’d care to join us, Keith,” Coran says with a solemn voice that disturbs him. He’s only ever known Coran as mostly jovial, and the seriousness of the man he’s been learning to grow accustomed to sends him for a loop. 

“I...don’t feel so good,” Keith settles without really thinking about it, and Coran nods. They separate then, and Keith tries to find peace of mind with himself as it settles on his shoulders that he’s now responsible for his actions right then. 

Before, he was free to roam the castle as the amnesiac shell of who he’s supposed to be until he respectively gained his memories back. But things had changed in a matter of moments, and suddenly what he did or _didn’t do_ actually mattered. He had bonded with Lance, even as the not-so-whole Keith that he was right then, and his next move would matter.

Coran hadn’t urged Keith to participate in the debriefing meeting, but he still had the sense that his absence would be noted. Wasn’t he supposed to be Lance’s friend? Care about what had happened? Maybe, if Pidge’s words had been true, he was supposed to care even _more_ than the others. 

And yet, Keith couldn’t bring himself to go seeking the remaining members of the ship for that damned debriefing meeting. All he could think of was the image of a bloodied Lance in Hunk’s arms, and the mental image was enough for him to go cold and feel as though he might vomit again. 

He wishes to forget about the current situation. To bleach his mind of his current stresses and scrub away the mental image of the fallen soldier he’d just seen so that he can pretend as though everything is a lot better than it actually is. Even if only until Lance heals and he can stand to think of him without worrying; or maybe even just for a minute. 

And maybe, he thinks as he finds himself wandering the castle in the opposite direction Coran went in, that’s the cowardice in him. Underneath Keith’s hardened persona of someone a lot tougher and stronger than he really is, there’s that soft gooey middle. Like a greedy child’s tootsie pop, there’s always that outer shell of protection around Keith. But after just a crack or two in the armor of concealment, you’ll find something decisively sweet and soft. Something that everyone wants to rush to get to, but it takes a bit of work to find.

Somehow, it didn’t take Lance much work to get to that softer part of Keith. And now that it’s exposed, the former red paladin isn’t sure how to cement his walls back into place. So he leaves the door open for Lance, his inner feelings hanging out for all the neighborhood to see, and lets himself be vulnerable. 

He lets himself be hurt, instead of trying to save face in front of the others and pretending Lance being injured isn’t driving him mad. 

He considers seeing what might be said about Lance’s condition and what happened a few times as he walks the halls of the castle. But then there’s the thought that he might hear more than he can bear, and his heart sinks all the way down to the corridor tiles and he keeps walking. 

It isn’t until he finds himself in one of the ship’s hangars that he bothers to stop walking. 

Keith worries for a second that if he stops, his brain might flood with the thoughts he’s just _barely_ been keeping at bay. He supposes that any momentary pause in movement might give his brain the opportunity to think of the possibilities about Lance’s injuries he doesn’t want to think of. 

But when Keith looks around the hangar, he finds himself at ease. Surprised, but not unsettled.

In the middle of the cavernous hangar, with a force-field of sorts surrounding it, he sees a large black robotic beast standing stationary and humbly. He blinks a few times, before recalling that each paladin owns their own sentient robot lion...thing.

It’s just as he remembers Hunk mentioning to him that these weapons are sentient that the lion’s particle barrier drops, and Keith feels a sense at the back of his mind that he doesn’t recognize as his own. 

It’s comforting for the most part, running across his mind like warm herbal tea chasing chicken noodle soup down a sickly throat. And in some senses it’s almost maternal; not that Keith would know much on the subject. 

But he takes the olive branch for what it is, and makes his way to the black lion without much thought. Hesitantly, he takes her in for a second time. He can’t help but feel a bit of admiration for the regality of her quiet but girthy presence. And it’s at this that he decides to take a seat against her paw. 

“What am I doing?” Keith mumbles to himself with a sigh, shoving his face in his hands. 

He feels silly, sitting atop a giant robot cat in the depths of despair. All while, for all he knows, the boy he so desperately adores could be on his _deathbed._

Coran hadn’t seemed like he knew Lance was about to die or something when he’d talked to Keith, but he’d also seen Keith shaking and on the brink of an emotional breakdown so maybe he didn’t want to add salt to the wounds. 

_Still_ , Keith argues with himself. _I should be there for him._

Keith thinks of his first morning with Lance. How he’d made such a sure effort to push the red paladin away, only for Lance to boomerang right back despite Keith’s imperfect words. Because Lance was just that kind. That gentle, that forgiving, that _loyal._ And Keith had thought at the time that he’d do the same in Lance’s position, but now that the tables had been reversed his judgement of his own character was falling flat. 

He brings himself to sit up straight as he closes his eyes with a great breath of exasperation. Keith knows, in spite of the guilt that’s loudly buried itself in between the arteries of his heart, it’s not that he doesn’t want to be there for Lance. That’s _all_ he wants. But he’s...scared. 

Because what if Lance isn’t fine? What if _Lance_ is the one that’s ended up in the coma between the two of them? Or perhaps something worse? And nobody’s come to tell him quite just yet because they’re unsure of how to break the news?

Keith bites his cheek as he realizes there’s nothing he can do if that’s the case, and violently swipes at the tear or two that escapes from his sockets. 

He’s only just _found_ Lance. At least, in his current condition. He’s only just decided that he wants Lance at his side through the entirety of this amnesia ordeal, as his support system and maybe a little more, even if he won’t let himself give his heart away fully. 

Keith chokes a little as a sob finds its way past his throat, and he tries his best to swallow it, but he finds it difficult as he begins to relish in his handful of memories of the former blue paladin. 

He thinks of Lance resting his legs in his lap and sharing breakfast with him, and how just later that night he’d poured his heart out to Keith between pleads and tearful admissions. He thinks of Lance’s hands with long tawny fingers gripping Keith and offering him strength, and also being a big brother to Pidge. He thinks of Lance’s voice riding on laughter and secrets, but also biting and nipping at him with fiery competitiveness at the Garrison. 

And it’s amazing, really, that the annoying cadet at the Garrison turned into the pillar of kindness that Keith had managed to become infatuated with. He wishes he’d paid more attention to Lance then, because-

_Wait, what?_

Keith blinks quickly a few times, before inevitably realizing that he _remembers Lance._

He nearly panics upon the realization, before it hits him that his condition is improving. It probably had been for a while, but he’d been so caught up with a certain long-legged paladin to notice. 

Keith ruminates in his own memories, and begins to selectively recall Lance in a Garrison uniform and a shaggy undercut. He thinks back to hair pulling and unwanted nicknames and light shoves in the hallway. Keith faintly remembers hearing challenges from a boy that was always in his peripheral but never really touched his inner circle, despite some one-sided efforts. And it makes Keith shiver. 

He does his best to try to remember first meeting Lance, or the last time they interacted at the Garrison. But the memories are somewhere between foggy and non-existent, and thinking on it too hard causes his everlasting headache to return tenfold. 

Still, his heart settles with collective admiration as he realizes that Lance is...familiar. And not just vaguely so, but much more concretely than the dejavu he’d been feeling earlier. The thought that Lance has always been around, always trying to clamor for his attention and be a presence in Keith’s life, serves to bring a small smile to the former paladin's face.

Maybe he should worry about why Lance had been so dead set on irritating Keith when they were young. Or concern himself more with how the hell they became friends in space afterwards, if not possibly something more.

But Keith decides not to bother with the details. And instead he settles on believing that if him and Lance were capable of going from butting heads to bumping fists, then he wasn’t going to complain. 

It serves to be a pain reliever to the wound that was Keith’s anxieties, really. The idea that his relationship with Lance had come some sort of way from _somewhere_ and wasn’t just him flailing in the dark of space was...nice. He couldn’t find the words, even for himself in the quiet of the black lion’s hangar, but he felt a little better in spite of the ongoing situation. 

But he’s fully reminded of said situation when the current black paladin makes an entrance into the hangar, and doesn’t hesitate to approach his younger brother. 

“Keith,” Shiro says, his voice empty of anything. Keith searches for exhaustion or stress or pain in an attempt to find something familiar, negative or not, but he finds nothing. Which is somehow worse than a tone that’s hurting. “I’ve been looking all over for you, what happened?” 

Keith shifts, suddenly uncomfortable, and shrugs.

“I just...I didn’t want to see him like that,” he admits, unable to even say Lance’s name, and hangs his head when Shiro crosses his arms.

“It’s not that bad, don’t worry. He’s tough, and he’s been through worse. Besides, we all get hurt from time to time, it’s just part of what we do. Hell, _you_ aren’t even fully recovered from your-”

“It doesn’t suck any less,” Keith cuts off, and bites his lip upon realizing his impatient tone. 

But he can’t help it. How can Shiro dare to try to make light of such a painful situation? How could he try to trivialize Keith’s feelings by making the situation out to be something smaller than it really was? Just because Shiro was used to seeing Lance get hurt didn’t mean that it wasn’t _Keith’s_ only memory of Lance in such a state. And Shiro knows this! He knows Keith doesn’t have the full grasp of this paladin situation due to his memories’ absence, so why? Why would he try to...to…

Keith can’t come up with the words he’s searching for, because not for the first time his head is unstable and muddled. And when he tries to look up, he finds that his eyes are swimming as well, with large pools of salty raindrops frosting his corneas and sliding across his reddening cheeks. 

He attempts to bite back the upset feeling overwhelming him, but the tears keep coming and sooner than later Shiro is by his side. 

“I’m sorry, Keith,” Shiro says, his voice low and rumbling. The gentleness in his voice serves to fill the emptiness Keith feels coating his stomach, and he sniffles. “I...I didn’t think about what seeing him like that for the first time might feel like. But I assure you he’s okay, I promise. He’s already in a healing pod and everything.”

Keith’s vision clears a little at this, but he doesn’t try looking up, far too embarrassed from crying. Instead he looks into the palms of his hands, and he’s faced with the angry indents from his fingernails gripping into tight fists for too long. 

“Nobody is judging you for not coming to the debriefing, by the way,” Shiro continues when the room remains silent, and Keith nods to show he’s listening. “I just came looking for you ‘cause I was...worried.” 

Keith thinks over what to say to this for a second, before he pulls his knees up to his chest and huffs a sigh. He thinks of Shiro; his brother in arms and for a more familial sense. The only sense of family he’s ever known to be true in the last decade or so, and the man that’s caused him the only sense of bare-boned loss since his father’s passing. 

At this memory, a fresh stone overturned, he feels himself getting overwhelmed. 

“You left,” Keith mutters so plainly, an accusatory tone coming off of him without any intent. 

“What?” Shiro asks, sitting off the edge of the black lion’s paw beside Keith slowly. 

“I...thought I lost him for a second. It felt like when you left.” Keith thinks of trying to clarify, though he doesn’t know how, and is grateful when Shiro seems to come up with the missing pieces without assistance. 

“You mean for the Kerberos mission?” 

Keith nods, and feels the black paladin shift beside him. 

“I thought you didn’t remember that…”

“I didn’t at first. But I guess my memories are starting to come back or whatever.” Keith explains, his voice hollow and lacking anything that could give away his true feelings. His feelings of uncertainty and doubt regarding the man sitting next to him. 

“Oh...I see,” Shiro replies faintly, and Keith almost feels guilty for bringing it up at a time when they’re both already exhausted and distressed. Almost. “I’m sorry by the way. I never really got a chance to say it before now, but I didn’t mean to leave you behind. At the time I guess it just seemed like the right thing to do.”

“Why?” Keith questions immediately, a new strength in his voice with an unknown source. Shiro shifts, seemingly uncomfortable, and Keith thinks to try to soften the blow of his words but he doesn’t get a chance before his sibling replies dutifully. 

“Because I’m a leader, I guess? Always have been, or _tried_ to be. Kids- they looked up to me, you know? I wanted to be the role model that they could always look up to. I wanted to be somebody _you_ could look up to. I...I didn’t want to disappoint.” Shiro says these words as though he’s rehashing them, and Keith wonders who he’s said them to before. It’s hard to suppose who it might be, because the pain-stricken stature he sees in the man beside him seems new. Like a wound freshly whipped and pelted in a place that’s never been seen. 

“You could never disappoint me Shiro,” Keith says, because as far as he’s concerned it’s true. But after a second he thinks better of it. “The only way you could ever truly hurt me is if you leave. If you just...promise we’re in this together, always, then that’s enough.” 

Shiro smiles, standing then, and claps Keith on the shoulder with a firm hand. Keith tries his best to forge a smile as well, in spite of himself, but it proves too difficult of a task. As much as he’d like to set Shiro at proper ease, it’s hard for him to find a reason to smile while staring into the dark irises of a man who’s seen more death and pain than those who have lived a hundred lives. Gazing upon his brother’s premature wrinkles and aged hair, his pinky-fleshed scar riding the wave of his nose bridge complimented by an awkwardly flushed face, he thinks he’s staring at a person he doesn’t know. Somebody who is already lost upon him somehow, and there’s hardly any of the Shiro he knows left. Not enough for him to smile at, anyway. 

Still, he pats at Shiro’s hand where it rests on his shoulder as an attempt of reassurance, and Shiro seems to get the message. 

“I’m going to bed. You should sleep soon, too,” Shiro informs him after a beat, and Keith shrugs. He doesn’t see how he’ll be able to find sleep anytime soon, but doesn’t see any point in mentioning that to Shiro either. “By the way, I feel like I should mention the black lion has been telling me everything you’ve been thinking since I walked in the room.”

Shiro says this part slightly embarrassed and slightly hurt, and Keith’s face immediately goes red once Shiro’s words register. 

“You’re lying,” he accuses, but his words fall flat because he already knows this isn’t a moment Shiro would try for jokes. 

“She was yours once, ya know. I guess your bond with her is still pretty solid.” Shiro pats at the lion’s large leg as he says that, and Keith immediately feels rather than hears a soft rumble at the back of his mind in response.

“She was...mine?” Keith remembers tell of him being a paladin once, but what that really meant never occurred to him until right then. And it’s an overwhelming thought really. The idea that he was once connected with something so noble and clear-cut in its purpose. 

Or still _is_ , he realizes. 

“In a sense, yes,” Shiro affirms. “Back when you were the black paladin. I wish I could’ve been there, Lance always says I would've been prou-”

“Don’t say his name,” Keith interrupts without meaning to. There’s just something about hearing Lance’s name, in this moment where he’s just barely settled and taped together by the weary tears of his heart, that makes his stitching come undone and it feels unbearable. 

Shiro presses his lips together tightly for a second before crossing his arms and cocking his head to the side. “He’s fine, you know.”

And he does know. He knows, from the way that Shiro’s face is wrinkled but not freshly burdened and his stature is full but not heavy, that he isn’t lying. That Lance is really going to be okay. But it doesn’t make his head hurt any less. 

“You should see him for yourself. But promise me you’ll get some rest,” is the last words Shiro leaves Keith with before exiting the black lion’s hangar, and Keith is left alone for a moment. 

At the thought of seeing Lance- finally putting his anxieties to rest- his lungs seem to leap from his chest with something unpleasant, but he ignores this and lets his legs carry him to the healing chamber instead. He’s sure if he thinks of another what-if or maybe his head will surely implode. And either way, how much could it really hurt to see Lance? 

It can hurt a lot, Keith decides. It’s in the healing room, with Lance in the middle of the stretch of pods that are otherwise empty, that Keith begins to feel sick again. Seeing Lance like that...seemingly cold and dead to the world, it makes him feel as though he’s fucked up. That maybe the whole protection clause in the term of agreements of his relationship with Lance needs some revisions. 

The only thing that keeps him from breaking down in front of Lance’s pod, aside from the slight comfort in knowing Lance isn’t _actually_ dead and just looks as such, is Hunk. Keith doesn’t notice him at first, but when he approaches Lance cooped up in a pod hard at work, Hunk’s voice cuts through the air like needles picking at yarn a moment later. 

“Oh, hey,” Hunk says stiffly, but it makes Keith jump a bit all the same. “I was wondering where you were.”

Keith bites at his lip for a second before taking a seat beside the yellow paladin where he’s sat not far from Lance, and he tries to come up with what to say without sounding the way he feels. Without sounding like he’s on the brink of an emotional breakdown or something in such a vicinity. But Hunk beats him to the punch. 

“I’m sorry,” Hunk says simply, and continues before Keith gets a chance to question him. “I know...I know how much he means to you. I should’ve tried harder to watch after him…”

Keith raises an eyebrow, and wonders why there’s such a strong theme of guilt and self-blame among the paladins that have thus far opened up to him. 

“Hunk, you don’t need to feel sorry about that. I’m just...glad y’all are okay,” Keith answers honestly, and takes in Hunk a little more closely. The paladin still wears his armor, with only his gloves and helmet displaced, and the remnants of blood still splotched across his chest plate in caking, dried layers. 

“But we’re supposed to look after each other and it was so stupid honestly, nothing should have ever even happened-” 

“Hey, dude, chill,” Keith attempts, feeling Hunk’s anxiety rolling off of him in unsettling waves. “What’s done is done, right? No need to try to put anyone to blame for what happened.” 

Hunk scrunches up his nose at this, clearly unhappy with this development, and Keith can read the words not being said right off the corner of his lips. 

“I just,” Keith attempts to explain. “I guess seeing you carry him in like... _that_ \- it scared the shit out of me. I thought he was dead for a second. I didn’t want to go to the debriefing meeting because I was scared of the possibility that maybe he really was a goner cause I mean...he looked fucked up to me. I didn’t want to know the details. And I still don’t. So, I’m just glad he’s okay. That y’all are _both_ okay. That’s all that matters.” 

Keith thinks this is probably the most he’s said to Hunk, or anyone, at once. And even further, the most concise he’s ever been. Even if his words aren’t exactly neat or prettily packaged. He’s just glad the message is clear enough for Hunk, whose creased eyebrows flatten by the arch and his tightened jaw settles by the curve. 

“He took a shot for me.” Hunk says it so plainly, like he’s delivering the weather or telling the time, but there’s an underlying depression in it as well like a person delivering eulogy. The dampness of the mood leaves Keith with an emotional pneumonia, and he wraps his arms around himself to try to find some sense of warmth to cling onto. 

“That’s just Lance, I guess,” Keith sighs to himself, and Hunk reaches into his pocket for something. 

“Here’s your handheld back, by the way,” Hunk tells him, placing a small block of thin technology in front of Keith and the former leader takes it graciously. “You asked me to update it with a video chat feature the last time you were here, but Lance’s been holding onto it for the past week or so. I just got it back from him today.” 

Keith looks at the small gadget curiously, turning it over in his palm a few times with wide eyes. “Why did Lance have my phone?” 

“Beats me,” Hunk yawns, scratching at the back of his head. “I’ve known him for ten years and he’s still an enigma to me.” 

Keith begins to swipe through the handheld’s applications mindlessly, with Hunk breathing with tired breaths beside him, and he arches an eyebrow when he comes across an application that marks Earth’s rotations. Particularly upon finding that Lance’s birthday is scheduled to be marked in less than two full rotations of the Earth on its axis. 

Wordlessly, the former black paladin shows this information from his handheld to the resting paladin beside him, and it takes Hunk a moment to realize what he’s looking at. But once he does, he looks at Keith with a panic that makes Keith feel as though he’s just burned the yellow paladin or done something equally distressing.

“Um, you didn’t- just ignore that!” Hunk cries, his eyes darting towards Lance as though the red paladin wasn’t currently unconscious. “He _cannot_ know you found out! Especially not because of me.”

“I already knew,” Keith reassures coolly and shuts his handheld off. “I overheard him and Shiro talking about it. And honestly, I think we should have a proper birthday for him. I mean, I know I don’t know him all that well right now, but I think he deserves it.” 

Hunk seems to drink in his words for a second, nodding in what Keith hopes to be agreement and not just understanding. 

“I wanted to have a party, too. But he was so...adamant about you not knowing. I feel like he’ll be mad if we throw a party anyway.”

Keith considers this, before shrugging with a slight smile. “He’ll just have to take it up with me, then. I don’t care what he thinks, he deserves to be celebrated, damnit.”

“God, I’ve never seen somebody so aggressive about a birthday,” Hunk says, but his words are dripping with a laugh and his eyes are bright despite his exhaustion. 

And it doesn’t take long for Hunk and Keith to launch into a plan to surprise the paladin a mere six feet away from them.

\- -

It’s a little over an hour later, deep into the castle’s night cycle and past a reasonable time for any living creature harboring said castle to be up, that Keith is laying on his back going through the chat logs of his handheld. 

After an extensive conversation about the details of Lance’s semi-impromptu birthday party, and the promise to fill the others in on the plan tomorrow, they came to a conclusion that left them both satisfied. And after some coaxing, Keith got Hunk to take his leave for some much needed sleep. 

Which simply left Keith alone with nothing but his handheld for entertainment, and it didn’t take long for him to begin skimming through it more thoroughly than he had before. He found that it was rather bare-boned, but all of its main functions still worked and he was grateful for it. 

He comes across a plethora of pictures of the team that makes his heart ache upon realizing he has no recollection of these frozen memories, and he bites at the inner section of his cheek when he comes to see the most recent pictures are of Lance and Hunk (but mostly Lance) taken just hours ago. And there’s even more recent pictures before that, with Lance and Allura in the training room and Lance and Shiro in what looked to be a cockpit rimmed with fluorescent red lights. And even more before that, of just Lance with his usual dazzling smile and forever full eyes staring into the camera brightly. 

Was Lance using Keith’s phone as his own? He seemed to be, but Keith couldn’t find Lance’s thought process in doing so.

Still, he’d be lying if he said he didn’t spend a particularly long time staring at these pictures. 

But what takes up the most of his time on his handheld is going backwards to read his messages with the red paladin. They seem to be a bit sparse, each ending with one of them saying they need to sleep or leave for an upcoming mission. But there are bits and pieces of what he _does_ come across that leaves his heart spinning, and he tries to find a grip that he realizes probably doesn’t exist. 

**_Lance_ ** **[03:07:10 - 004.50.3056]**

_hey you awake?_

**I am now…**

_shit, sorry didn’t mean to bother you_

_you can go back to sleep_

**It’s ok, I’m awake**

**And you could never bother me**

_really?_

**Yes? I thought that was obvious**

_not to me!_

_you always say I’m annoying :(_

_(that’s a forwny face fyi)_

_((Fyi means for your info, btw))_

_(((Btw means by the way, fyi)))_

**_You are annoying_ **

**_But in a Lance way...it’s nice_ **

**_(Also I recognize a frowny but thank you for the clarification, btw fyi)_ **

_idk what that means but I’ll take it_

_and you’re using btw/fyi wrong!_

**< /3**

_I regret teaching you emoticons_

  
  


**_Lance_ ** **[23:23:48 - 005.16.3056]**

_do you have a favorite song?_

**Why…**

_I’m curious!_

_You never talk about music_

**Oh**

**Yes**

_Yes you have a favorite song?_

**Yes**

_Okay what is it lol!_

**Ya know that one song...I thought that I was dreaming when you said you loved me. The start of nothing new...**

_oh! Ivy by Frank Ocean!_

_that’s my fave too, I love that song!!_

**I know…**

**I’ve heard you sing it so much I guess it kinda got stuck in my head**

**Permanently**

_oh_

_cool :)_

**(I also like cancer by MCR, btw fyi)**

_ADSDFFD_

  
  
  
  


**_Lance_ ** **[16:17:06 - 005.23.3056]**

**Open the hangar please**

_what’s in it for me?_

**Um**

**I come bearing gifts**

**Hohoho**

_I thought Santa came through chimneys?_

**If you don’t let me in right now you get nothing**

_I see Santa got up on the wrong side of the sleigh smh_

_(Smh stands for shaking my head)_

**How do I block your number**

_Gee ilyt </3 _

**I’m sorry**

**I don’t actually have gifts**

**But I am tired**

_Opening the hangar rn_

_(Rn means right now)_

**What’s ilyt?**

_I’ll tell you later_

  
  


**_Lance_ ** **[06:09:27 - 005.31.3056]**

**Can you tell Allura thank you for sewing new pockets in my blade suit? They’re really nice**

_Oh_

_That wasn’t Allura_

**You did it?**

_Yeah lol_

**Thank you**

**I didn’t know you knew how to sew**

_Pfft, you know me. Man of many talents_

_Um...my abuela taught me a long time ago_

_I can knit too! It’s really easy actually, I wish I had yarn n stuff so I could teach you_

**Why would I need to know how to knit?**

_It’s really relaxing. Maybe it’d help you get out all that pent up anger_

**What’s the angry emoticon face?**

>:/ ?

**Thank you**

**> :/ !!** ****

**I do not have pent up anger!**

**Training is relaxing for me…**

_What else?_

**Um…**

**Talking to you I guess**

_Oh_

_Cool…_

**Cool**

  
  
  


There are a few references and mentions of things Keith doesn’t recall or understand, but he continues to read because it fills a bit of the shallow stream that’s slowly turning into a roaring river of his affections for the red paladin. He’s almost jealous of himself somehow; he can’t help but wish he was able to talk to Lance the way that he sees in these chat messages instead of with the state of fear and apprehension that he’s currently suffering from.

The chat only goes on with a sense of domesticity and strong themes of friendship- clearly holding so much of Lance’s personality and a stale shadow of who Keith supposes he might’ve been. It’s so simple and oddly domestic it makes Keith a bit sick. There’s no hint of war or pain in their conversations; it’s as though it’s just them first and everything else is secondary. And it makes him wish he could have another one of these just-between-you-and-me types of conversations with Lance right then.

Keith doesn’t know how long their chat log goes on, but he doesn’t exactly get to find out. Before he can reach the start of their conversations, his handheld runs out of battery and he’s left with a black screen in place of the messages he’d been reading. 

He thinks back to the letter he’d read from Lance just that morning, and feels for it in his pocket before sighing. Knowing it’s still there, and fondly thinking back on its contents, Keith is able to find enough comfort to leave Lance for the night and make an attempt at sleeping. 

It’s when Keith is walking the halls to his room neighboring Lance’s, decisively making his first attempt to actually sleep in his own bed rather than the medbay, that Keith notices a light from Lance’s room dimly shining from under the door.

Without thinking better of it, he immediately enters Lance’s room out of curiosity and is faced with a scene that’s unexpected but somehow doesn’t exactly surprise him. On Lance’s bed sits Allura reading by a lamp light, her white hair pooling over her shoulders in unkept waves and her stature hunched over as she sits upon Lance’s mattress. 

At the entering of Keith, she doesn’t exactly jump. (Something about Allura’s goddess-like features makes Keith believe she’s above most human emotions, and isn’t really capable of being surprised.) But she does look up at him with wide eyes, and drops the book in her hands onto the bed when she registers him. 

“Oh, Keith,” she says standing, flattening her silk nightgown with her hands and avoiding eye contact. “What’s...what-what are you doing up?” 

She fidgets a bit, and for some reason this makes _Keith_ nervous. As though _he’s_ the one who just got caught in a room that isn’t his. 

“I was just...going to my room when I noticed the light coming from under Lance’s door. What about you? Can’t sleep?” Keith says slowly, taking a seat on the bed and observing what it was the princess had been reading. At a quick once-over, he sees what looks to be a comic book of sorts with a cover that seems to be written in a foreign language, and he smiles at the thought that Allura probably got it from Lance’s shelf. 

“I um, tried. But I can’t help but feel bad about the recent turn of events for our red paladin.” Keith watches as she begins to pick at the tips of her hair, and he presses his lips in a taut line before he nods in understanding. 

“I get what you mean, I don’t think I’ll be able to get much sleep myself.” Keith lays on his back, and Allura takes a seat beside him before shifting. 

“I’m sorry you couldn’t have had a better weekend. I knew the Jorlan tribe was rumored to be an aggressive group, but I didn’t see any readings of heat signatures to be wary of when I did a reading over their planet and just sent Hunk and Lance there without thinking twice about it. Had I done a bit more research I would’ve known better than to do so and none of this would’ve happened,” she says all of this quickly, like a profuse apology that burns her tongue and she can’t get it out of her mouth fast enough, and it makes Keith sit up by his elbow. 

He wonders for a minute how he ended up surrounded by such a selfless group of individuals, constantly pinning the blame upon themselves, while living in such an unforgiving world. 

“Allura, you know Lance wouldn’t want you blaming yourself. It’s nobody’s fault, it just...happened, right?” Keith attempts to reassure, and the princess pins her knees against her chest.

“I suppose…,” she hums, before looking at her former leader sideways under the shy lighting of the room. “So, you aren’t mad at me?” 

Keith sits up rightly at this and shakes his head aggressively. “No! Why would I be mad? Especially at you of all people?” 

“Well,” she starts, and then smacks her lips thoughtfully a few times before continuing. “I don’t know, I guess I was worried you ran off because you were angry.” 

Keith shakes his head again, frowning. 

“No, I wasn’t _angry_. I was just...scared,” Keith says low, and Allura sits up a little.

“Oh. I believe I understand…,” she tilts her head to the side and attempts a smile. “I think.”

“Okay, it’s like this: Lance is my friend. Or at least I _think_ he is, I’m not entirely certain about all of the details. But I’d never want to see him... _like that._ And I guess it was kind of overwhelming to see that all of a sudden,” he explains. Allura stares at him slightly perplexed before getting a far off look in her eyes.

“I see. I just haven’t seen you that upset in such a long time, and that’s not the first you’ve seen Lance in such-” Allura suddenly clamps her mouth shut, and voids eye contact with the former paladin beside her. “ _Quiznack_. I-I’m sorry. I guess with everything going on I seemed to have forgotten you...lost your memories.” 

Keith watches the princess bury her face in her hands and he pats her back pathetically whilst sitting up on his knees. 

“Hey, it’s okay. I’ve kind of gathered that a lot can happen in just a matter of days,” Keith tells Allura, thinking of how he feels like such a different person than he had just two days ago. “so it’s not like there isn’t other stuff for you to have been thinking about.”

There’s silence for a moment, and Keith can’t help but watch as waves of an unknown emotion pass over Allura’s face while she’s lost in thought. 

“The funny thing is, I had been worried you were going to go back to the way you were when you first became a paladin. But it’s like you didn’t lose your memories at all, honestly. That’s why it was so easy for me to forget you’d lost them, I guess,” she says without looking at him, and her words strike a heavy chord with him that piques his interest. 

“Really?” 

“In my opinion, yes. You were a bit...brash when you first became a member of the team. It took a while, but eventually you matured and became much more open and level-headed. I’d thought you’d lose that sense of you since you’ve forgotten your time here in space. But you’ve been pleasant the past few days. Only you could make Pidge laugh as hard as she did at dinner tonight. It’s like...well, it’s like nothing’s changed with you since your last visit.” It’s then that she offers him a light glance, happiness at the tips and corners of her expression where light gently refracts off her face, and she pats his chest. “I guess at your core, your quintessence remains true, huh?”

Keith doesn’t know what quintessence is or about his first few days as a paladin, or anytime as a paladin really. But Allura’s words warm him to his marrow all the same, and he can’t help the soft tone that becomes laced within his figure. 

“Thank you, Allura. Knowing that honestly makes this whole amnesia thing a lot easier,” Keith says, and he immediately knows it to be true. A massive pressure that had been pestering him for the past weekend had been the worry that he’d been crossing boundaries and stepping on toes by being someone that the other members of the castle weren’t accustomed to. But knowing that he remained fair and true to himself was a massive relief to his constantly heavy heart. And then, because Allura is smiling at him brightly and he thinks she deserves to hear some good news, he adds on, “I’ve gained back some of my memories, actually.” 

“You have?” she squeals excitedly, as though this drop of optimistic outlook has deduced her to a younger version of herself, and Keith nods.

“I still don’t remember most of you guys, unfortunately. But I have some memories that are slightly more recent, from when I was a little older.” Allura frowns, as though Keith has massively let her down, so he adds, “And I remember Lance...a little bit.”

He isn’t sure she heard the last part, because at the mention of “Lance” she’s squealing again. 

“Oh, how lovely! Tell me everything!” 

Keith blushes and averts eye contact as she excitedly scooches closer, and he wonders if he made the right decision in telling her anything. 

“It’s nothing, honestly,” he mutters, but she’s already settling more comfortably on the bed and hugging a pillow as though she’s preparing herself for a story of sorts. “It’s um...well, before I didn’t remember him at all. But now I can faintly remember us both being at the Garrison together. But he was really different, from the bits I remember, compared to now so...I don’t know what to think, really.”

Allura has this sure fire look on her face, like the equation of Keith’s dilemma is perfectly sensible pre-algebra rather than the confusing rocket science that it is to him, and he’s almost jealous that she’s finding absolute pleasure in this development.

“Oh, yes, the infamous Garrison. Lance has told me many things of his time there with the other paladins, you especially. He’s come to be quite regretful of the way he acted towards you back then, though I’m not exactly sure why. In Altean culture it’s quite normal to duel those who you wish to court.” 

Keith doesn’t think he’s ever been more confused in his life, and Allura must read this on his face because she simply waves a hand in dismissal of her words while Keith’s mouth sits agape. 

“Never mind that,” she laughs. “I’m supposed to be sworn to secrecy about his Garrison related confessions anyway.” 

“You and Lance gossip?” Keith asks, though it’s more of an observation than anything. He can see the proper answer from the glint in her eye and languid smirk hanging off her lips. 

“I have no idea what you speak of. Lance and I simply recount our past excursions in intimate and familial relations because we have romantic hearts. I highly recommend it, honestly. Reminiscing is only healthy and Lance is a wonderous listener.” Allura sighs then, a distant look in her tired eyes and smiles with an equally faraway theme. “He’s a splendid friend, overall, actually.” 

Keith watches her for a beat as she begins to pick at the cotton sticking out of the well-loved stuffed shark on the bed beside her, and it makes his entire being succumb to a sweeping feeling of _something._

He knows it’s her sympathy for the red paladin as she sadly thinks of Lance’s current state because he’s feeling it too. That desperation to make a light out of the darkness that’s their injured paladin; a need to show their appreciation and love for the soldier that does nothing but pin his heart to sleeve and his index finger to the trigger of life for the sake of others. 

“Allura…,” Keith hums, and she looks at him with a smile that’s a little less distant. A little bit closer to home. “Hunk and I were talking about making the party on Sunday a proper celebration of Lance’s birthday.”

Allura doesn’t even bother questioning how Keith knows about Lance’s birthday or when he had discussed such a thing with Hunk, because she’s quickly busying herself with embracing Keith in a quick hug and prying him for details. 

“Oh, that’s a delightful idea! I so badly wanted to host festivities for his sake, since he’s only ever done the same for us, but he was quite cross when the suggestion was made,” she erupts, a smile stretched across her features and shining brightly. “But this is marvelous, honestly. The Junnigee kingdom are wonderful people and their planet is just covered in celebratory traditions that I think might remind our Lance of home. At least, based on what he’s told me.” 

He smiles at the mention of “our Lance,” because the thought of Lance being his in any sense, even to share, does strange but not unwelcome things to his heart. And it makes it all the more easier to continue his conversation with the princess. 

Keith can’t help but feed off of Allura’s excitement, and sooner than later he’s recounting everything he spoke of with Hunk, as well as gathering intel of what Lance told her of his birthdays on Varadero beach. 

Time seems to slow as they talk, and he can’t be sure how long they actually speak to one another. But he’s quickly made aware of the waning night when Allura begins to yawn, and he fully registers her drooping eyes for what they are. Their conversation distills to something slow and calm, as she smiles at Keith lazily and suppresses another yawn, and he feels sleep tugging at his eyes as well. 

“Lance is lucky to have a friend like you,” Allura says with a grin that he thinks fits her more than perfectly. 

“You too. You clearly care about him,” he replies quickly, before his sleepy brain can forget the thought, and she nods. 

“He’s...he’s good at making me feel like I have a family. He pulls the team together when we need it most, and sometimes he tells me stories of his home and I feel like I was there, too.” She sighs, and gives Keith a pat on his arm. “You’re good for that, too, though.” 

“Really? How?” Keith knows of his strengths and is vaguely aware of his weaknesses, but he’s wholly aware of his inability to recount tales of a family. Considering he’s never really had one. Not truly. 

“Lance is good at making me feel like I’ve gained something here in space. Like I’m not totally at a loss without Altea. But...at times you were the only person that understood what it was like to lose all you’ve ever known and to be thrusted into a life you never wanted. And to feel...alone.” Her tone is heavy, and her words are heavier, but her blue eyes against his gray ones are light. Like she’s a thunder cloud, completely teeming with something that’s already spilling but still delicate at the core. Still soft and passive at the end of the day.

Keith doesn’t know what to say in reply to her words, but he doesn’t have to. While Keith is weakly remembering Pidge telling him of Allura not having a family, Allura is standing and straightening her nightgown and robe. 

“I better head to bed, before I pass out,” she says in a voice that’s tender and warm, like Hunk’s baked goods. “Thank you for talking to me, I feel much better.”

“Me too,” Keith admits, and she nods, causing a lock of hair to fall across her sheepish face. 

Keith is watching Allura exit the room, and is wondering if this is his cue to leave as well, when she looks over her shoulder and gives him a thin once-over. 

“By the way, I don’t think Lance would mind if you slept here tonight. In case you’re too tired to make it back to your own room,” she tells him before she turns off the lamp light and slips out of the room.

Keith blushes in the half-dark of the room alone, knowing that he’s perfectly capable of walking the few feet to his quarters but would much rather spend the night in Lance’s space. And he knows Allura knows this too, based on the way she grinned at him as though she was in on some sort of secret, and it makes him snatch the stuffed shark beside him and bury his face in its fin in an attempt to hide from his embarrassment. 

But once his flush evens out, and he doesn’t particularly feel like dying from embarrassment, he’s able to appreciate the moment for what it is. 

Somehow Lance’s room feels like home, even without Lance in it, and he finds his way under one of Lance’s quilts to lay on his back and make an attempt at sleep. 

He hadn’t thought he’d be able to sleep earlier, knowing that Lance had been hurt and that there was nothing he could do on the matter, but his talk with Allura had seemed to resonate with him enough to bring some tranquil repose to his mind and heart. 

So when he’s comfortable against Lance’s pillow and he’s tucked under a blue blanket with a shark plush in his arms, he counts the faintly glowing stick-on stars on the ceiling until he’s fast asleep. 

\- -

Keith doesn’t sleep for longer than a few hours, due to the violently disturbing nightmare he gets about Lance dying in front of him, and it sets him on edge for the morning. He immediately takes a moment to use the breathing exercises Shiro had taught him once upon a time, and it settles him enough to be able to gather his surroundings and realize that the castle has entered its morning cycle. 

At this deduction, he removes himself from Lance's bed and makes it up the best he can before exiting the room for a shower. 

It’s half an hour later, after a long cold shower that helps steady Keith’s nerves, that he finds himself visiting Lance’s healing pod. The red paladin is still unconscious and amidst the remedial process, as was to be expected, but Keith can’t bring himself to move from in front of Lance. 

Not until Hunk enters the room some moments later, and knocks Keith out of his reverie. 

“Hey,” Hunks says, his voice sleep-ridden and low, and the past black paladin turns to face him slowly. “You’re up early. Can’t sleep?”

Keith tears at his lower lip before shaking his head, and the paladin beside him nods. 

“I get that. You’re not used to this whole war thing without your memories, huh?” Hunk’s question comes off to be rhetoric, so Keith doesn’t bother with a reply, and Hunk continues. “A nice breakfast always helps, though. Let me make you something.”

Hunk doesn’t have to tell Keith twice, and soon he’s following his friend to the kitchen. 

“Whenever I get really bad nerves, I make frittatas. Is that weird? I just feel like you can eat eggs with almost anything. Fish, fruit, chicken. Oh my gosh, and _pani popo_ . Usually my mom would make _pani popo_ with scrambled eggs and mango for breakfast and my mama would make _fa'apapa_ with omelettes so I guess eggs just feel like home. And coconut bread, but unfortunately I have yet to find a coconut in space,” Hunk rambles while preparing their meal, pulling familiar (and not-so-familiar) things from the fridge. 

Despite the mishap on the Jorlan planet, Hunk had still been able to salvage the collectibles he’d retrieved with Lance from the excursion, and he explains this to Keith when Keith questions where he got eggs.

“There were these really fat birds that honestly were kinda scary, but Lance just tried talking to one and it flew off without its little egg babies! I mean, I guess it would’ve been hard for it to fly holding all these eggs but, like, still. Kind of sad that it was willing to leave its children behind just to avoid Lance.” Keith finds Hunk’s mindless chatter calming almost, and it closely reminds him of his chat log with Lance. He quickly begins to see how the dynamic between the yellow and red paladin works. 

“So, I was thinking we could tell the others about Lance’s party over breakfast, if that’s okay with you,” Hunk says, a little calmer than he had previously been in between instructing Keith on how to properly chop vegetables for their breakfast.

Keith nods, and soon discussing the events of the day over breakfast is exactly what they’re doing. 

It doesn’t take long for frittatas to go cold as Team Voltron (excluding Lance) excitedly discusses the details of celebrating the paladin concurrently brewing in a healing pod. Keith feels shy bringing it up at first, but seeing the subtle support in Hunk’s smile and brightness in Allura’s eyes, he feels a little more courageous. 

“I don’t know, won’t Lance be upset? He said he isn’t in the partying mood, and we _did_ say we’d respect that,” Shiro starts at Keith bringing up the idea, and Pidge immediately rolls her eyes. 

“Yeah, but that was _before_. A lot has happened since then and he deserves to be appreciated, dammit. He’s always looking out for us and he needs the break. Besides, the Jorneegians are having a party either way so if he’s got a problem with it he can take shit up with them,” Pidge states, waving egg around on her fork. 

“Pidge, _language._ But I guess you’re right…,” Shiro speaks.

This is all it takes to convince the entire table, though it doesn’t take much convincing to begin with, and proper decisions are conceived. 

As it turns out, Allura was right about the Junigenia planet holding hints of Lance’s home, with its tropical climate and atmosphere. The planet is mostly liquid, lighter and thinner than Earth’s water but there all the same in its pinky color and surrounding the island that makes up Junigenia’s capitol. Due to the abundance of the oceanic substance, the Junnigee species made their livelihoods mostly from sea wildlife exports and the trade of other tropical goods, including fresh fruits and fish that made up most of their cuisine. 

And where the Junnigee weren’t collecting anapaja and swalinga fruit or spear-fishing the horahora animal found in tide pools, they were gathering and weaving plants. Particularly the long and brightly colored jahnia plant, that was a flower often used to make tightly woven necklaces evocative of Hawaiian leis. Aside from decoration, the jahnia plant was capable of being stripped to its harder center and woven into fine clothing or baskets. 

Then of course there was obviously the beach, where most Junnigee spent their free time aboard rafts or swimming or riding the waves on floating paddle boards that resembled surfboards. 

All in all, Junigenia was filled to the brim with culture that the paladins thought Lance might appreciate, and a brief videocall with the royalty of the kingdom helped them come to the conclusion that the natives would be more than happy to share said culture for the sake of the red paladin’s birthday. 

“Do you know of birthdays?” Allura had asked the king, eyes sparkling and hands clasped. 

“I don’t believe I do,” the tribe leader had replied, and Pidge quickly explained. 

“Oh! We have something similar here!” the Junnigee queen had happily exclaimed. “Every seven full moon cycles since a Junnigee’s birth, a celebration is held to remark their christening of the moon spirit found in the luchei fish. At twilight, you’re supposed to ride off with the tide in a boat with the person who helped you grow the most in the past cycles, and a luchei fish will push you back to shore!” 

Each of the paladins stared at each other dubiously upon hearing this seemingly confusing ritual, but Coran seemed overjoyed at this explanation and helped guide the conversation to explain how an occurrence as such should be held for their former blue paladin. 

After some further talking, an agreement was made for the pre-existing gathering to turn into a proper party to mark another year with the red paladin. The Junnigee royalty were dead set on going all out, and nobody felt particularly compelled to protest. Hunk was given the job to ensure only the best of meals were prepared, while Pidge was given the task of gathering music. Allura and Shiro decided to deliberate over decorations at the planned venue, the outside garden of the Junnigee castle, while Keith oversaw the activities planned for the evening. 

Meanwhile, Coran was tasked with being there when Lance inevitably woke up and keeping him unsuspecting of their idea. 

“We’ll make sure every Junnigee on this side of the island attends for the festivity! And then some!” the queen exclaimed before the video call ended, and quickly the team was scattering like mice in odd directions to execute their plan. 

And though Keith suppressed a smile while exiting the castle for the first time since he’d arrived, he couldn’t deny it to himself. He was excited. 

\- -

Keith had never been to an island, or even seen a proper beach that he could remember, but that afternoon he quickly found that he enjoyed such an environment. 

It didn’t take long for Keith to find locals who wanted to have some role in making the red paladin happy, so he quickly found traditional dancers practicing outside who wanted to do a demonstration at the party and fire breathers and musicians who had the same idea. There was a plethora of locals who had talents they wanted to show off, actually, once the news had spread across the island that a certain member of Voltron was looking for someone to entertain the red paladin. 

By lunch he was receiving free horahora sandwiches and swalinga juice as a bribe of sorts. He had explained that anyone who wanted to perform was welcome to, and so he didn’t need to be paid in food, but there seemed to be a language barrier even with the translation device Pidge had given him, which kept some natives from understanding this explanation. And he wasn’t exactly going to turn down a free lunch, either. 

But after a quick meal of a sandwich or two and several cups of swalinga juice, he’s heading towards the beach for the most important and demanding task on his checklist of things to do. 

According to the Junnigee king, a well trusted boat-crafter was waiting for him near the docks in preparation for Lance’s moon christening...thing. Apparently Keith was supposed to help with the designs of the boat, and he was actually looking forward to it. 

Keith didn’t have the clearest memories of his father, or especially of his dad having free time. But what he could recall of those small gaps in his dad’s schedule, he could vaguely recall his father sketching designs and odd parts for all types of crafts on napkins and in the margins of notes or newspapers. Sometimes him and his father would be at a McDonald’s or in a waiting room or somewhere equally mundane, and he’d see his father pull out the pen that was always behind his ear and lazily doodling away at something complicated and extensive. 

“I’d wanted to become an engineer,” his father had muttered once, while drawing at what looked to be a steamship engine. 

“Why didn’t you?” Keith had asked simply, because at the time he hadn’t completely grasped the concept of not being able to go after what you want. 

“You happened,” his dad had answered with a sad smile, before messying Keith’s hair with his wide palm. “But you’re probably the best thing I could’ve ever built.” 

It hadn’t made complete sense to Keith at the time, but later in life he had understood, and got him to appreciate the intricate workings of things being deconstructed and built. It was half the reason he lazily drew mechanics on scrap paper just as his father did. (With the other half of reasoning being he didn’t really understand things that were sentient and real, even in trying to draw them on paper.)

So when Keith reaches the docks and is instructed to describe what should be carved into the boat, Keith’s happy to start sketching. 

He isn’t sure at first, because he doesn’t have his memories and doesn’t trust himself to know what Lance would want. But after a minute of scrapping the drawings he starts with, the craftsman in front of him bends one of his long ears and tilts his head. 

“Do you not know?” he asks a bit petulantly, and Keith blushes. 

“I just...can’t decide,” Keith admits, and the craftsman smiles. 

“That’s fine, young one. Just tell me what he’s like.”

Keith thinks a moment, sitting on the dock and crossing his legs. He stares at his reflection in the pink of the water, refracting to a honey gold and fair crimson in some places, and he bites at his lip. 

“He’s loyal. And generous and kind.” Keith thinks for another second before adding, “And brave. He puts everyone first and is just...everything.”

Keith whispers the last part, but blushes all the same and the Junnigee craftsman stares at him oddly.

“He’s very important to you, I suspect?” the man asks, his long ears twitching and gills flaring. 

“Well, yeah. The only way I know how to describe it is he feels familiar. Like home.” Keith then remembers he’s talking to a man that builds boats for a living and not a therapist, and backtracks with haste. “But he’s important to everyone, I think. Because he’s such a good friend no matter what and, like, a paladin of Voltron or whatever. He saves people and stuff. Knight in slightly dented armor.” 

The Junnigee looks perplexed, but writes all this down anyway, before ultimately patting Keith on the shoulder. 

“I believe I’ve got the symbols that fit best for this one. Maybe. You speak very oddly, young one. All you have to do is help me build and then carve the proper symbols that pertain to your paladin,” the native explains, and Keith wordlessly begins working to save himself any extra embarrassment. 

They make the short walk to the beach, where the boat maker has set up his work station and his employees wait to dutifully assist them. All of them work mostly quietly for what Keith thinks might be a few hours, with the tides pushing and pulling against the beach and the warm winds rustling the leaves of the oddly shaped trees lined up against the far off pastures. The only conversation that’s made is to tweak designs in certain areas and to pass tools or for Keith to question what goes where, and Keith finds that he likes such a line of work of cutting and sawing and hammering. Even if only for an afternoon task. 

But the job comes to an abrupt end, because right as the second sun of the planet begins to set, Pidge is running up to Keith breathlessly and resting her hands on her knees as she tries to speak to him and catch her breath simultaneously. 

“Why!” she coughs, exhaling several times, and one of the Junnigee workers offer her a drink of swalinga juice, which she chugs down quickly while Keith stares at her in confusion. “Keith! Why haven’t you been answering your handheld?! I’ve been trying to get ahold of you!” 

“It’s dead and I don’t know how to charge it, so I left it at the castle. Why? What’s wrong?” Keith stands suddenly, panic rising in his chest, and drops the tools in his hands. “Is it Lance? Is he okay? Was the healing pod able to-”

“Whoa there, cowboy,” Pidge cuts him off, looking him up and down. “Lance is fine. A little _too_ fine actually. Coran said he’s starting to get suspicious about why we’ve all left him alone for so long, so we need you to go back to the castle and distract him.”

“What? Why me?” Keith questions with displaced indigance, and Pidge rolls her eyes far enough to reach all three of Junigenia’s moons. 

“Don’t play dumb, Kogane. You and I both know you’re the most _distracting_ to Lance out of anyone.”

At this the Junnigee workers, who have apparently been eavesdropping, hoot and laugh and it makes the former black paladin tint with pinks the color of the ocean behind him. 

Keith isn’t able to find the right words of denial or protest to say, and Pidge doesn’t give him the chance before she’s sending him on his way. 

“Don’t bother denying it, just go! I’ll finish up your work here!” Pidge calls, pushing him from the beach and Keith frowns while walking away. Until Pidge says, “Go take care of our boy!”

It makes him stop and smile for a moment, before he’s walking off the beach’s blue sand and tailing the path to the castle. 

His smile gradually fades, but the warmth in his stomach Pidge’s words brought remains. 

\- -

After briefly greeting Coran at the entrance of the castle, he’s told Lance is currently being held hostage in his room for the sake of the team's schemes. 

“I told him I had a surprise for him if he’d finally listen to me and rest for a while. But then he awoke from his nap and actually demanded a surprise, so you’re the best I could come up with,” Coran explains with a careless shrug. 

“I feel used,” Keith laughs, though he’s serious, and Coran laughs with him. 

After a short debriefing of the status of their plans, Keith goes to his room for a shower before visiting the red paladin. 

By the time he’s clean, with his skin hot and aglow and the tips of his hair sticking up in odd places from being towel-dried, he can feel himself growing tired from the long day he’s had. 

But just when he’s about to put on the clothes he’d been wearing earlier- a stale black tee and matching jeans and gogo boots he’d found in his closet- he notices a set of clothes neatly folded on his desk and a pair of black boots on the floor nearby that he hadn’t seen earlier. And just like there had been the day before, there’s a note.

  
  


_Hi Samurai!_

_Hope you’re having a good day! (Actually I’m kind of mad at you right now because you left me in the castle alone with Coran with NOTHING to do, so I hope you have a slightly bad day.)_

_Anyway, I’ve been bored for the past few hours because Coran won’t let me leave the castle or even do anything interesting because I need to “rest” from being in the pod. So I washed and patched up your Blade uniform for you, I hope you don’t mind. I’ve been sewing all day ‘cause there’s nothing better to do, I feel like an old lady._

_I hope you feel sorry for me! You’ve abandoned me in my time of need and I’ve been deduced to an abuelita! Whatever you’re doing right now better be worth it!_

_What are you doing, by the way? Coran just keeps saying you’re busy…I hope you’re not overworking yourself :(_

_Well, enjoy the clean suit. And please come see me when you read this, I’m crazy bored. Seriously, never abandon me again!_

_Spiting you a little bit (for leaving me behind),_

_Bored Seamstress Grandma_

_P.S: Coran said you guys had frittatas this morning but made me eat food goo because he doesn’t know how to cook eggs and doesn’t trust me with the stove! I don’t expect you to cook for me, but I’m adding this for an extra layer of guilt so you know why you shouldn’t leave me alone with Coran. Ever._

_P.S.S: (Don’t actually feel that guilty, I’m just joking. I don’t need a frittata!)_

_(Not actually spiting you,_

_Your Sharpshooter)_

  
  


Keith reads the entire letter in one go, unlike he did the first time Lance wrote to him, because he simply can’t stop reading. Even after he’s read the entire thing, he’s stuck on the words for a few more minutes and rereads it a couple times. And then he admires Lance’s small drawing of a shark on the side, with a speech bubble that reads “I miss you!”

Everything about it- from the well-meaning jokes to the scratchy writing in blue pen- is so Lance that it almost hurts. Keith thinks back to the first letter, and digs in his past pant's pocket to fish it out and stare at that one as well, before eventually folding both letters and setting them in the drawer of his desk for safekeeping.

Afterwards, he feels rejuvenated somehow. Like his desire to see Lance has become exponentially stronger, and he can’t tug on his Blade unfirorm and cross the small distance to Lance’s room fast enough. 

He has to backtrack to go back to his room to make sure he’s got everything he needs on his person because he’s so excited and almost forgets the gifts he’s brought for Lance. So it’s not until the second time he exits his room that he enters Lance’s, a sharp trace of enthusiasm lining his stomach as he thinks about the red paladin. 

“Coran, if you’re here to tell me you don’t have a surprise for me, it’s okay, I know,” Lance mutters when Keith enters. He’s laying out on his stomach, facing away from the door, and seems to be reading something colorful. “But you can definitely apologize to me in the form of snacks. Preferably the secret stash of turnovers I know you’re holding out on.”

Keith stifles a laugh, and instead shuffles over to the bed beside his friend and smiles. “Sorry, no turnovers. But I did bring you a horahora sandwich, though.” 

Lance’s body goes rigid upon hearing Keith’s voice, and quickly flips over off his back to look at his former leader squarely. Keith isn’t sure what to make of the expression he’s being given, it’s wholly enveloped in an unyielding amount of _something._

“Keith,” he breathes, a bit disbelieving, and eventually offers his usual grin with a little more emotion than Keith is used to. “Coran said you were busy.”

“I was,” he hums, beginning to make himself comfortable on the bed beside Lance. “Not too busy for you, though.” 

Lance begins to say something, setting the magazine he’d been reading down, before seeming to change his train of thought completely as his face flashes with something unappreciative. 

“Hey! Shoes off the bed! What, were you raised in a barn or something?” 

Keith rolls his eyes before unzipping the boots he’d only put on just moments ago.

“Kind of, yes, actually,” he comments with a shrug as he takes off the first boot. “My dad and I stayed on a farm in Cali for a commission job he got fixing trucks and tractors when I was a kid. It wasn’t for that long, though. But I got to play with their shepherd dog and pick corn on weekends so it was kind of nice.”

Lance is fully sitting up by the time Keith has finished talking and is neatly placing his shoes on the floor, and Lance smiles widely. 

“Really? That’s so nice! I stayed on a farm before, too!” he says with lots of animation, and Keith does his best to stick the sight of an excited Lance to his memory. It’s a feat to witness, in his opinion. “My grandparents owned a yucca farm and my uncle inherited it, and I used to spend summers there as a kid! I usually missed the beach when I was there, but it was still a lot of fun. My cousins and my siblings and I would have sleepovers and catch bugs and my aunt would invite the neighbors over and we’d sing songs while making dinner. It was always so fun, I wish you could’ve been there.” 

Lance talks so quickly, practically bouncing in his seat while Keith settles beside him, that Keith slimly misses the last part. But it still catches onto his ears, and he silently holds it close to him as he scans Lance’s face for what could’ve brought him to share such a small but meaningful piece of him with Keith. It came so easily and effortlessly, as though he has no qualms with sharing with Keith. 

Keith recalls the last time they were together in this room, tears spilling and hands anchoring one another as they freed the depths and burdens of their hearts whilst simultaneously offering reassurances, and he thinks maybe Lance _doesn’t_ have any reserves with him. He wonders if maybe that’s something to be wary of. 

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Lance laughs a bit nervously when Keith doesn’t say anything, and his old leader frowns. 

“I’m sorry for leaving you,” he mumbles, then pulls out the horahora fish sandwich that he’d picked up on his way back to the castleship. “But I did bring you lunch.” 

“Where were you just keeping that?” Lance questions, and Keith shrugs. 

“This suit has really nice pockets.”

Lance smiles with a long grin that doesn’t quite reach the corners of his eyes, but might as well, before he speaks saying, “You can thank me for that. I make an excellent seamstress.” 

“So I’ve heard,” Keith replies before Lance unravels the wrapping on his sandwich to inspect its contents. 

“I’m actually not that hungry,” Lance begins as he rewraps it and reaches over Keith to place it on his nightstand. “I was able to get past Coran and make an omelet while he was watching _Law & Olkarion. _Great show, by the way. I was watching episodes on my tablet all morning while sewing your suit.” 

Lance sighs with what Keith guesses to be content, and grabs his plush shark from where it sits beside him on his bed and hugs it to his chest. Keith notices that the hole that was in the stuffed animal the night before is gone, and has been patched up neatly. There even seems to be what Keith makes out to say ‘Lancito jr.’ roughly embroidered in blue needlework over where the hole was, and Keith can’t help but find the juvenile act a bit endearing. 

It’s funny to him, almost, that Lance can literally be graced with the kiss of death one day and then proceed to play doctor on stuffed animals the next day, and if he wasn’t so warm and gratified sitting beside Lance right then, it might have served to worry him. But he knows by then that that’s just Lance- full force in either warmth and gentle acts or ones that marked him as the brave and loyal soldier that he was. There was no in between with someone so impassioned and radiant in everything that he does, and Keith decides it’s something he likes about Lance. That he’s consistent, and never flakes to an in between of one of his two sides. Even if the red paladin confuses him in some ways, he overall knows not to be surprised by Lance revealing himself to be soft and real. 

And that’s what makes him bury himself in the warmth of Lance’s bed and promptly ask, “What’s the show about?”

Lance doesn’t hesitate to launch into the plot and compare it to other shows from either Earth or planets that fall unfamiliar to Keith’s ears, and it makes him smile knowing that even the smallest things can get Lance excited.

He listens carefully, but his eyes wander across the room as Lance speaks and he offers light commentary. 

In between thoughtful hums, he’s able to observe the details of Lance’s room he hadn’t thought much of until then. Set upon the dresser is an assortment of things that seem to range from cosmetic products to collectibles, though he can’t be exactly sure from his place on Lance’s bed. Across the room there’s a small shelf littered with books that are mostly graphic novels and nicknacks that include action figures of the Voltron team and rocks or crystals. Underneath said shelf is Lance’s small desk, which holds a small set of books as well. But it’s also littered with what looks to be a stationery set with an array of balled up letters making a mess of the desktop, and he feels a warmth spread across his chest as he realizes Lance probably put a lot of effort in his short letters to Keith. 

But the thing that sets him off the most is the sight of the art lined against the walls. There’s posters covering odd planes of the wall, most of them seemingly promotional for the Voltron coalition with the current paladins in corny poses. And a little higher on the wall there’s an oversized drawing of what looks to be a tracing of Cuba, with Havana and Varadero marked in Lance’s crude writing. But along the wall closest to the bed, there’s a sea of drawings of varying levels of expertise shown. Some seem to have taken a painstaking amount of time, while others appear to be simple children drawings that lack any substantial amount of artistic talent. But they’re all pictures including Lance, whether that be in blue or red armor or even in stick figure form. Keith considers the idea that the drawings are kept by Lance for narcissistic purposes, but he immediately knows this to not be true. He knows that it’s just Lance appreciating those who take the time to gift drawings to him, and he gets lost in observing the drawings once he’s set on looking at all of them. 

There’s one drawing though that catches Keith’s eye the most. It looks to be a group picture, including all of the paladins, but in it Keith is there standing beside Lance in black paladin armor. He doesn’t know why this casts aflame to the candle of his inner feelings, but soon there’s a fire alight and he isn’t sure what to do. 

He can hear Lance talking to him, but he can’t bring himself to offer any response or even register what it is that Lance is saying. He’s just transfixed on this picture, and frowns as he recalls what Lance mentioned the other night. About Keith being around more at some point, and Lance apparently being Keith’s right hand man during that point in time. Keith wonders what inspired him to ever let things change from that seemingly perfect arrangement. 

It takes Lance tapping at Keith’s shoulder to get him to stop focusing on the drawing, and when he turns to face Lance, he’s met with a pair of umber eyes teeming with worry. 

“What’s wrong?” Lance inquires, feigning a smile that doesn’t even come close to reaching his eyes. 

Keith goes still for a moment before coming to hug Lance, simply because he realizes he needs it, and it seems to set the red paladin off kilter. 

“Whoa, buddy, you good? You’re kind of scaring me right now.” Lance’s voice has risen in a pitch or two, but Keith doesn’t pay it any mind, because he’s too busy resting his forehead against the forefront of Lance’s shoulder and trying to find the words that are burdening him. 

“I’m sorry for leaving,” he says, pauses briefly, and then coughs before continuing. “I should’ve been there when you got out of the healing pod. I should’ve been here with you all day, actually. And yesterday, too.” 

Lance pushes away for a second, and Keith feels his heart plummet out of his rib cage and to the soles of his feet as he worries that maybe he said too much. That maybe he’s caused a disturbance to the boy he adores so much with his heavy truths, and he wishes he could snatch his words back. 

But then Lance grabs him by the shoulders and holds him at arm’s length, observing the odd corners of Keith’s person and watching him carefully, before pushing Keith’s fringe from his face to clearly meet his eyes. 

“What are you talking about? Is this about what I said in my letter? I was just kidding, you don’t actually have to feel guilty about that. I was fine, I promise. Especially about yesterday, what happened couldn’t have been avoided, it’s not a big deal.”

“Isn’t it though?” Keith counters, finding courage and strength in his voice that’s directly fueled by the fire set in his heart. “You’ve been helping me and keeping me together since _I_ got hurt, I should be doing the same for you. But I didn’t...I wasn’t here because I’m a coward.”

Keith can’t help but avert eye contact as he finds his words to be true, and wishes so badly that it wasn’t. He wishes that he had only been away from Lance because there were simply things to do, but he knows that it’s so much more than that. He knows that he’d been scared about seeing Lance because the last time he’d seen him he’d been in such a horrid condition, and it wasn’t until reading Lance’s most recent letter that he truly felt it was safe enough to speak to the red paladin. 

He didn’t want to deal with the painful parts of his companion; the dread and the tears and the worry. At least not in the way Lance had when Keith was stuck in the medbay. 

And he felt guilty for it. 

“I don’t understand,” Lance whispers, and Keith scratches at his wrist to distract himself from crying. 

“It’s just...when I saw you hurt yesterday I was scared about seeing you again. Even after I knew you were okay, I couldn’t get the image of you being half dea- _hurt_ in Hunk’s arms. I couldn’t really convince myself that you were truly alright. Not until just now. That’s why I wasn’t here with you today.” Keith watches as strands of stitching from his Mamorite suit come undone from picking at it in an attempt to avoid eye contact with Lance, and he’s grateful the past blue paladin doesn’t force him to meet his gaze. 

“I...It’s okay, Keith. You don’t have to feel bad about that. I know that kind of thing can be pretty scary. I wasn’t able to look you in the eye for a whole week the first time I saw you get seriously hurt, honestly.” Lance pins falling locks of hair behind Keith’s ears, and Keith has to ignore the prickly feeling he gets at being touched. It’s like rose thorns or something equally threatening- painful, in the way that it makes his gut wrench, but overall worth it. 

“I guess I get what you meant when you said you almost lost me at that one planet? Nutella?” Keith tries. 

“Naxzela,” Lance corrects with a gentle laugh. 

“Yeah, there. I never want to feel like that ever again, it sucked. I felt like _I_ was the one dying.”

“Oh, totally agreed. That feeling has to be, like, number one on the list of things with major suckage value. Right next to vacuums and being stuck in space without my iPod.” 

Keith stares at Lance silently for a moment, but can’t help but smile at this and Lance laughs at his own joke. 

“I don’t want to see you get hurt again.” 

Lance’s face falls a bit at this before he sighs, and pats Keith on the shoulder. 

“Sorry, cowboy, but getting hurt is kind of in the job description,” he says, then continues when he sees the deep creases riding on Keith’s forehead. “But I’ll try to be more careful for you, okay? Pinky promise.” 

Lance sticks his pinky finger out and Keith stares at it oddly before looking at the finger’s owner incredulously. 

“What does that mean?” 

“You’ve...you’ve never heard of a pinky promise?”

Keith shakes his head and Lance smiles before twisting his position to sit in front of Keith properly.

“Alright, it’s a special promise that can never ever be broken or your pinky finger will fall or something.” Keith doesn’t like the sound of that but Lance is already grabbing his hand and telling him to hold out his smallest finger. “Okay, and then you make a promise like this: I, Leandro Alejandro Alvarez, red paladin and Keith’s favorite sharpshooter, solemnly promise- by the strength invested in me through the power of Grayskull and my smallest phalange- to try my best to watch after Keith _and_ stay out of trouble and not get hurt. For Keith’s sake.” 

Lance manages to hold a straight face through all of his words, though Keith thinks he’s half joking, but because he can’t be certain he tries his best to mirror Lance’s words. 

“Um, okay,” he starts hesitantly. “I, Akira Keith Kogane, solemnly swear- by the power invested in me through my pinky finger- to protect Lance and make sure he stays out of trouble.”

Lance stares at him dubiously for half a minute, so Keith quickly adds on, “And I’ll look out for myself, too.” 

“Peachy,” Lance says before linking fingers with an unsure Keith, and it doesn’t take long for them to both burst into a fit of laughter. 

By the time they’re done laughing, Lance is resting against the headboard of his bed and Keith has found a comfortable enough position beside him, and Keith smiles knowing that they’re both at peace. He isn’t sure how to verbalize it, but he finds happiness in knowing they can both be at a place of serenity in each other's presence.

“So, tell me about your day,” Lance instructs, and Keith doesn’t hesitate in doing so.

He tells Lance of the Junnigee’s beautiful native tongue that he’d been hearing all day before it went through the translator earpiece Pidge had given him, and the exquisite flowers and manicured greenery or blue sand he’d seen lined against all the paths he walked upon. Then of course there were the breathtaking animals he’d seen roaming the streets just as though they were people, ranging from cat-like creatures with long tails and winding fins along their back to birds with sharp teeth and iridescent scales along their stomachs. And lastly he mentions the fine cuisine he tasted aside from his fish sandwich, including fresh swalinga fruit and its juice served inside an edible bowl that held chucks of a green substance that only added to the flavor of the treat. He shows Lance the trinkets he’s collected from the Junnigee species over the course of the day- varying from beaded or woven jewelry to shells or crystals- and presents them as gifts for Lance to add to his nicknack collection. All of which Lance accepts kindly before gently setting the gifts upon his nightstand. 

Doing his best not to mention any of the preparations for Lance’s birthday surprise, he tries to say as much as he can without being specific on details, and before long he’s run out of things to say. 

So instead of letting their conversation completely simmer down, Lance insists they play a game and instructs Keith to help him “name” the stickied glow-in-the-dark stars he’s slapped against his ceiling. Keith’s immediate reaction is to be hesitant, because he isn’t sure what the point of the activity is and the stars aren’t all that easy to see with the room’s light on, but after some of Lance’s insistent tickling he relents. 

And he’s glad he decides to do so, because it doesn’t take long for Lance to make him laugh to near breathlessness with names like “Cornelius Cultavitch Cullen (named after the distant twice-removed cousin of Edward Cullen)” and “Twinkle Dinkle Dick the Third (better known as Richard by his colleagues).” And even better, Keith is able to make _Lance_ laugh. 

He doesn’t even try to be funny. It simply comes when Lance tells him it’s his turn to name a star and Keith says, pointing to a star directly overhead, “Well, I guess I’ll name that one Logan Learman because he’s hot and stars are hot and stuff.”

It makes Lance snort so violently it catches Keith completely off guard and he chuckles loudly, and it only serves to make Lance laugh as well. 

Seeing the way Lance’s eyes crinkle and fold at the seams and his laugh lines pop into place like overstretched rubber bands make Keith want to cherish this version of Lance forever. It makes him wish that Lance would laugh even more than he already does, and Keith wishes to always be the source of that laughter. So he continues talking, naming stars with names he finds appropriate and causing the boy beside him to giggle without any signs of refrain or hesitance. 

It makes Keith grow sleepy somehow, perhaps because the comfort he finds in Lance is so immeasurable he can only help but feel the safety and comfort needed to grow tired. It’s after they’ve named about ten or so stars, and Lance’s laughter has died down just a bit but not completely, that Keith turns over onto his side and thinks of shutting his eyes. 

“Thank you,” he mumbles first, deciding he owes the paladin beside him the signs of gratitude. For all the times he wasn’t sure if it was _okay_ for him to be grateful and he withheld his inner thoughts. “I feel a lot better.” 

“Yeah?” Lance asks, and Keith doesn’t even have to look at him to know he’s smiling. From his peripheral view he can see Lance raise a hand over Keith’s head, and he prepares for Lance to perhaps touch him, but the sign of affection never reaches him, and Lance rests his hand in his own lap instead. For a split second he wonders if maybe Lance is upset with him for some reason and that’s the source of his reluctance. But then Keith remembers that he had been just as afraid to overstep Lance’s bounds just a day or so ago, and so he decides not to dwell on it. 

Instead, he speaks, “You...you’ve really helped a lot these past few days. I was really worried at first about me stepping on toes and not being myself, but the things you tell me make me feel a lot less lost I guess. I don’t know if that makes sense...just, thanks for filling me in on things.”

Lance is silent for a moment, before shifting beside Keith and letting his posture go slack. 

“You know more, now actually,” he states, and this causes the former black paladin's eyebrows to furrow in abrasive confusion. “There’s a lot of things I’ve told you in these past few days that you didn’t even know before. But it was really nice being able to tell you, so thank you for listening.”

Keith can’t help but seek out Lance’s hand upon hearing this, as his eyes grow a bit heavy and his breaths grow more and more even, and he’s grateful that Lance doesn’t snatch his hand away. 

“Lance…,” he yawns with a light heart, with few and far things on his mind as he prepares to rest. “What does ‘I-L-Y-T’ mean?”

The past blue paladin is silent for a moment, before eventually chuckling upon realizing what it is that Keith’s trying to ask. 

“I’ll tell you later,” he says with a snicker woven in between his words, and it makes Keith smile as he finally lets his thick lashes brush his cheeks as he closes his heavy eyes. 

That’s how he finds himself asleep that night- with Lance humming a familiar song, holding onto his hand gently but with no intent on letting go. And this time Keith doesn’t let go either. He doesn’t think about saving himself heartache or pain or saving Lance any potential troubles.

This time Keith stays. Because he thinks maybe, just maybe, his heart has finally found a home. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Keith and Lance: protecting yourself?? Broke. protecting your boyfriend? Woke. 
> 
> Lol okay so, I kinda have a lot to say for the end notes so let me get it all out of the way:
> 
> a. I hope Keith doesn’t come off as whiny or dramatic in this chapter, I just really wanted to display a *slightly* more realistic depiction of seeing somebody you care about get hurt? I always kind of hated how in the show somebody would get hurt and for the most part it was just brushed off. Like what the fresh titty, your boy just got yeeted across the galaxy and you’re just like yeah let’s go fight Zarkon? No ma’am! >:( So yeah lol it was important to me that some relevant emotions were shown!
> 
> b. I’m so sorry if the dialogue in this chapter? Feels weirder than usual? Or unnatural? I legiterally wrote and edited this chapter at 12-6am for three consecutive nights because I knew I wouldn’t have any time this week to work on it, so sorry! I just knew who I wanted Keith to talk to but not exactly about what so...yeah a lot of this is free hand. 
> 
> c. Unfortunately I don’t really know when I’ll be able to post chapter six. I’d like to say sometime next weekend but unfortunately it could be the week after next! Hopefully not because I’m not trying to drag this fic out, I already have everything planned, but I am so busy with school plus familial and personal issues that decided to pop up out of nowhere, so my weekdays are always jam packed. And it sucks.
> 
> d. Please feel free to message me on tumblr @hearttpoem, whether that’s regarding this fic or you’re looking for fic recs or anything honestly. I’ve been going on a lot of super long road trips lately and they’re extremely boring


	6. love me to death or don’t give me anything

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> and fools rush in,  
> and i’ve been the fool before  
> this time i’m gonna slow it down  
> cause i think this could be more  
> the thing i’m looking for
> 
> -please don’t say you love me, gabrielle aplin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey hey! Hope you’re having a good week Anna, and to whoever who might be reading this! :D  
> I’m super sorry for randomly falling off the face of the Earth, I’ve been totally caught up with school and personal issues. I kind of had to neglect a ton of school work to pump out this chapter, so hopefully it’s actually enjoyable lmao.  
> But ignoring that! I’m sorry this chapter is so long, but I felt like it was only fair considering I haven’t updated in so long. Plus, I knew exactly where I wanted this chapter to end!  
> Tbh I’m a little iffy about some parts of this, though, especially the end. So if I edit a bunch later on, don’t be surprised.  
> ALSO!!! Thanks a ton for the hits, comments, and kudos! I was literally planning to neglect this fic until October when I finish my AP English class, but I went back to reread some comments and I just went!!! <333 So yeah comments and kudos are def appreciated and are basically my only source of energy for this fic other than caramel frappes.  
> Thank you! Oh, and please read the end notes cause I have a question for anyone who actually like... cares ajdbdjfhni  
> Anyway, please enjoy!!
> 
> (Also, a song I think matches this chapter pretty well is Waitin For You by The Aces, aka my fave song, so feel free to listen to that while reading!)

vi.

There aren’t many moments in Keith’s life that particularly stand out to him. At least, not like thumbtacks on mostly empty bulletin boards or fluorescent chalk on pavement. Most of Keith’s memories are coarsely blended or repressed so that Keith doesn’t have to think too hard on the things that make him the hurt person that he is. 

However, there’s still one set of memories that comes to Keith’s mind from time to time, and he doesn’t bother trying to suppress these thoughts. As sharp as chartreuse paint on a blank canvas or as glaring as a stabbing pain, there’s the memory of the summer after Keith’s fourth year of elementary school. It’s what he thinks of when he zones out and all his heart knows to do, without any guidance from his brain, is to long. Long for that summer of light sunburns where his skin refused to tan and near-frozen melons for dessert by the pool. All his heart knows is to bring this photo set of memories to light, because there was something about that summer that makes these thoughts refuse to fade or even fray by the seams. 

It all started one afternoon in the middle of April- or maybe it was May-or even June. It’s hard to tell, though this part isn’t what’s important to Keith. It’s the part where one of his classmates, Andre M. (not to be confused with Andre B., who picked his nose and stole mechanical pencils), invites him to his birthday party at recess and Keith isn’t sure what to make of it because there’s so many things that Keith Kogane knows little to nothing about. And on that long list, even as a kid, was birthday parties. 

Never had he been invited to Halloween themed bashes or Chuck-E-Cheese or Odyssey Fun World or anything in the vicinity of fun by his peers. Hell, even the kids that played with Pokémon cards and Beyblades at recess sneered at him during their impromptu tournaments. 

So it’s simple enough to conclude that this was Keith’s first invitation to anything, let alone a birthday party. Let alone a pool party themed birthday at one of his classmate’s houses. 

“I just noticed you don’t live far from me so I thought you should come,” Andre M. says, knees bent and eyes wide as he peers down at Keith sitting under his tree where he usually spends recess reading. This week he’d been working through _The City of Ember_ , and the character Dune had just discovered a secret tunnel when Andre had approached him with a red envelope and a toothy smile. 

Keith looks at Andre wordlessly, because at ten years old Keith wasn’t all that great with words. He’s never been good at tying phrases and ideas together, but especially as a kid did he struggled with this, so all he can think to do is nod before Andre M. is skipping off to invite the next kid. 

And by the mercy of some god, or perhaps that bigger-than-anything force that lingers over Keith’s shoulder always, Keith actually makes it to the party and has fun. Mostly. His lips stay stained red through the entire event from Kool-Aid and he never spits out more than three words at once, but he laughs at poorly done cannonball attempts and beats several kids at swimming contests, so it can be argued the evening isn’t the worst. 

The problem, however, isn't within the actual afternoon in itself. It occurs around six or seven in the evening, with the sun growing shy and kids growing tired as their parents begin to take them home or pick them up one by one. By eight, Andre’s parents have put away the cake and presents, with only the remnants of a party being streamers in the pool, and the last of the guests are gone. Save for Keith. Who lamely waits on Andre’s porch for his dad to pick him up. 

But it doesn’t take long for Andre’s parents, Mr. and Mrs. Mohammed, to realize Takayuki Kogane may be a day late and a dollar short, and they insist Keith stays inside while he waits. 

Which somehow turns into Keith spending the night with the family, though he can’t exactly complain. 

Andre lets Keith borrow his dinosaur pajamas and Mrs. Mohammed makes everyone iced tea and kettle popped popcorn, and soon enough Keith is squished in between Mr. Mohammed and Andre to watch the movie everyone let him pick out- _Coraline_. 

It proves to be a fairly satisfying night, with Andre M. letting Keith play with his new birthday toys until bedtime, and then especially enjoyable when the two of them end up sneaking downstairs after the Mohammed parents have fallen asleep for extra slices of birthday cake and unholy amounts of cookies and cream ice cream. 

Keith doesn’t remember when he fell asleep that night, but when he woke up the next morning he was on the old futon of his apartment and his dad was apologizing profusely for getting caught up at work and picking him up so late into the night. 

With birthday cake and ice cream still in his belly, Keith was easily able to forgive his father, but later on he’d actually come to realize his dad had done him more of a favor than anything else by letting him spend the majority of that night with the Mohammed family. 

The Mohammeds really did live close to Keith and his dad’s apartment- only two school bus stops away- and it was all too easy for Andre to take his Spider-Man bike and visit Keith that weekend to ask if he wanted to “play.” Keith had never been asked to “play,” save for by the snotty kindergarteners and preschoolers who were willing to have anybody push them on the swings or be teeter to their totter on the see-saw. 

Which is to say, this was the first time in a while that somebody from Keith’s class went out of their way to spend time with him. So Keith came outside after getting permission from the older Kogane, and the two fourth graders spent the afternoon drawing things in chalk on the sidewalk of the block and reading from the _Diary of a Wimpy Kid_ book Andre had brought in a khaki colored Jansport backpack. And they did the same the next day as well, with Keith teaching Andre how to draw something _close_ enough to SpongeBob and Andre teaching Keith how to play extreme hopscotch. 

After that weekend Keith had expected to never hear from Andre again. At the very least, not at school. But somehow Keith ended up lucking in, and Andre M. plopped right beside him on the school bus and then _again_ at lunch and recess. And from then on they were almost inseparable. 

That’s not to say they always agreed, though. Andre was very adamant about liking Aquaman and Spider-Man where Keith thought Batman and Ironman were cooler, and Andre preferred iced tea and _Diary of a Wimpy Kid_ when Keith wanted lemonade or to read _Big Nate._ But they still blended well, because at the end of the day a lemonade and an iced tea makes an Arnold palmer. 

That’s not to say they were best friends, either, though. Or maybe they were, but Keith would never let that be without putting up some sort of fight. 

The last time he thought someone was nice and was excited to play with them, it was in the case of Benjamin Sanders, and Keith wasn’t so quick to forget that time in third grade and being abandoned in a cold and rainy forest. Even if Keith deep down knew Andre would never forget him in a game of hide-and-seek. 

Still, where Andre pushed Keith pulled in hopes to keep from allowing himself to get too close. He knew the only rock he truly had in life was his dad- the one person he knew he’d be able to keep up with every time he moved- and wasn’t about to get too attached to anyone, no matter how nice they were or how well they colored in the lines. 

This meant Keith at times didn’t let himself come outside to play, though he knew he had nothing better to do. And when Andre was talking, Keith didn’t let himself get too engaged in the conversation out of fear of accidentally bonding with the kid. 

It was a weird dynamic, even though it was obvious enough Andre was oblivious to Keith’s purposeful caginess and swallowing of words. The things Keith wanted to say or laugh with Andre about were often left unsaid, but that was fine for Andre because the kid liked to talk. And lucky for Keith, he preferred to listen. 

So to Keith- no, they were not best friends. No Keith was not invested in the life of his down-the-street-and-around-the-corner neighbor. And no Keith definitely was _not_ exhilierated every time Andre Mohammed invited him to play or spend the night at his house. 

Okay… so maybe he was. But that’s not even why Keith’s time with Andre sticks out so clearly in his memory. In fact, it’s not his time in the presence of Andre that Keith thinks much on at all. It was Andre’s mom. 

Keith Kogane was many of things at the age of ten, main of which included being his dad’s biggest fan and groupee. Everything about Takayuki Kogane, from his scruffy beard to his tired eyes and even more tired voice brought a smile to Keith’s face. The stray streaks of gray in his fringe and smell of grime and oil stuck in the man’s uniform made Keith smile always, and on most days his dad was his whole world and everybody else was just living in it.

But that isn’t to say Keith never thought of what it’d be like to have a maternal counterpart to his father. To him his father was enough, and mostly that’s all that mattered. However, there was still that one percent of his mind that pestered him on especially lonely nights or during particularly sad meals that made him imagine a life with _two_ parents. With the woman who took Polaroid pictures of Keith and left, or even a nice lady who was sweet and could love both him and his father. Though it made him feel selfish and greedy, he just wanted to have the comfort in knowing his family was whole with two parents. Or something close to it. He longed for that motherly touch and maternal grace that he’d seen being executed by PTA moms and strangers in the park, and he wondered what it’d be like to be on the receiving side of that type of affection. 

He could imagine it, just for a fleeting second, when the nicer half of his school teachers gave him approving looks after perfectly spelling words like ‘boisterous’ during vocabulary reviews. Or when they offered diabetes-inducing sickly sweet reassurances when his dad failed to pick him up from school on time. Sometimes he’d stay inside during recess and help his nicer teachers grade papers or clean their classrooms just to see those kind smiles on particularly harsh days. 

But this hunger for something simultaneously sweet, gentle, wise, and understanding doesn’t come to him hard and heavy, like he’s been starved of attention his entire life, until he gets properly acquainted with Mrs. Mohammed. 

Now, there isn’t exactly anything particularly different about Andre’s mother. Not really. 

She tied her locs up with giant hair clips and silk scarfs while she made Keith and Andre afternoon lunch on the days she was off from work, and she wore long billowy sundresses at all times that were often paired with golden hoops and matching golden wedges that always made a welcoming _cla-thump cla-thump_ across tiles and pavement. There was nothing extraordinary or eye-catching in any of this. 

And yet, when she came outside to deliver Andre and Keith melon balls and iced tea by the pool, she always patted them both on the head and it made Keith appreciate the snack all the more. When Keith came by for sleepovers when his dad was stuck with a night shift, she always brushed Andre’s short hair and tied it up in a durag, and then she did the same for Keith just to make him feel included. And Keith wished she’d brush his hair all the time, because there was something so hopelessly kind and domestic about the sentiment that for a second he’d feel as though he _wasn’t_ half of an orphan. 

She called Keith and Andre ‘sugar’ and ‘pumpkin,’ as though they were _both_ her sons, and when she’d get two-for-one coupons for Children’s Place or JCPenny’s she’d always pick up something or the other for Keith _along_ with Andre, as if they were _both_ members of the Mohammed household. Even though Keith’s father often made him give whatever he’d been gifted back to Mrs. Mohammed, both out of courtesy and out of embarrassment.

It was these sentiments, whether or not Mr. Kogane let him keep gifts from Mrs. Mohammed or whether or not she had any real intent in her motherly actions, that made Keith wish the woman was actually his mother. Not in an attempt to escape his own life (because he’d never want to be without his father).

But rather for the reason that he simply adored the kindness he always got from Andre’s mother, and because the events that occurred in the Mohammed household were always warm and chraitiable. _Especially_ if the matriarch was around. 

“Ya know, I’ve always wanted a brother,” Andre had said mindlessly by the pool one day in late July, just a few weeks before school started. Keith had nodded, and moved his red Connect-4 piece into a slot without much thought. 

Keith couldn’t do more than hum in agreement, because he knew he was probably supposed to say something that let Andre know he thought of him the same way… or something. But all Keith could think of was how much he had always wanted a _mom._ Or maybe not just a mother. He had always wanted that feeling of being a part of a family. Of being a part of something bigger than him, and something more whole and complete than what he was already familiar with.

And he was thankful that the Mohammeds had given that to him. 

That summer was the last time he’d see Andre and his family, and the last time he’d get to see his father as well. And at times he’ll feel guilty as he realizes that instead of spending his last summer with his father before he passed, he spent it wishing he was a part of another family. 

But even past this guilt, he thinks of what it was like to feel a part of something complete. To feel like a member of something bigger than just himself. He thinks of thoughtful gestures and sweet words and soft eyes and he wishes he could have something close to that again. 

He doesn’t let himself dwell on it, because he knows that dwelling will only lead to him feeling that residual pain he can’t get rid of. 

But for the first time in forever, he feels that feeling again the morning he wakes up in Lance’s arms. 

  
  


\- -

  
  


The morning of Lance’s birthday, Keith is almost startled at the condition of which he wakes up. Almost. But there’s some familiarity in it, which is what causes his gut to wrench and his eyelashes to bat at lightning speed as he takes the scene in.

Keith is used to sharing beds- after years of sleeping on the same mattress as his father and then sharing beds with foster siblings, but what he isn’t used to is the tenderness in the places his pale skin meets brown, and his always cold blood burns bright. Lance’s arm is draped over his back, with his head on Keith’s and his nose whistling out small breaths. Keith is grateful he’s able to quickly wriggle his way out of Lance’s space, because he isn’t sure he’d be able to handle another second in such a position. 

But his shuffling must disturb the paladin beside him, because in moments Lance is winking a brown eye open like chocolate having its wrapper stripped away slowly, and Keith is forced to face the music to his favorite song. 

“Mornin’,” Keith whispers, his voice quiet, half from the wry feeling settling over him and half in hoping to not disturb a still sleepy Lance. 

The boy beside him sits up slightly, just by the elbows with very little urgency in his movements, and yawns for a beat before scratching at his unruly mane. 

There’s a pause in the air, as Keith waits for the verdict to be out on what Lance is feeling right then, and he holds a breath without meaning to. He doesn’t wish to think of it, but he can’t help but briefly acknowledge to himself that however Lance reacts to Keith being in his bed could answer all his questions he previously had about whether or not they were really a couple. Well, more than a couple of _friends_. 

“Hm,” Lance groans while rubbing his eye, and Keith mentally shoots himself a dirty look for finding it endearing. “You stayed last night.” 

Lance voices this as an observation and nothing else, so casually like he’s reporting what he’s going to eat for breakfast or who’s his favorite Kardashian sister, but little does he know that it sends Keith into half a panic. 

_Was I not supposed to stay? Is that who we are? Friends but not throughout the entirety of the night? Less than that? More than that?,_ Keith quickly thinks, panic rising in his chest. Lance seems to observe this, as Keith fails to actually _voice_ any of these thoughts, and watches as Lance grabs his hand loosely. 

“It’s not that I mind or anything, I just thought you wouldn’t want to spend the night. Since you didn’t last time.” 

_Oh._ Okay, that made sense. Keith exhales, only to begin to worry all over again at the realization Lance is holding his hand. Sort of. So he begins to think of what he would normally do in this situation. Assuming this even _was_ a normal situation. 

“Do I usually spend the night?” Keith asks, sheepish, and rushes to elaborate when Lance pops him a questioning eyebrow. “I mean, like did we have sleepovers and stuff before? When I had all my memories?” 

Lance chuckles, before shrugging and tightening his grip on Keith’s hand before releasing it all together. 

“Sometimes. If Kolivan- your space boss or whatever- didn’t call you to a mission in the middle of the night.” Keith nods thoughtfully, pretending he doesn’t miss the warmth of Lance’s hand, before the red paladin adds on, “This is not a sleepover, by the way. Those require hot chocolate. Or _dulce de leches_ pastries. Or both.” 

“Says who?” Keith questions, rolling his eyes. 

“Me. My siblings and I would sleep together like every other night, so I’m kind of an expert on the topic.” 

Keith hums, thinking of what to say to that, before Lance is tugging him back down onto the mattress with an unappreciated grip and Keith falls onto the pillow beside him with an invigorated _thwump_.

“ _Ow_? Are you _trying_ to snatch my arm off?” 

“I thought maybe you could match with Shiro,” Lance laughs to himself, and barks a shout of protest when Keith punches him with genuine anger. “Sorry! Sorry, too soon. Also, sorry, I didn’t mean to pull that hard, I just...missed you being beside me.” 

Lance is already nestling his face into Keith’s side, mumbling his words into his shoulder by the time he reaches the end of such a statement, but it falls on listening ears all the same. And Keith curses himself for the flush that dyes his ears and cheeks an embarrassing shade of pink. 

“You’re still an asshole,” Keith grumbles back, lacking the bite he means to show in defense of his brother. With every breath Lance hums into his shoulder blade, he’s sure it brings him closer to short-circuiting. So he pushes Lance away, much against his heart’s wishes, and strains himself to use his brain for once instead of the organ in his chest that seems to beat for the person beside him. 

“I need to get dressed.”

Lance groans loudly as Keith begins to slip away, and turns to meet Keith’s face with wide eyes and a jutted lip. 

“Five more minutes?” Lance pouts, but Keith is already grabbing his boots and sighing. 

_If I stay now, I don’t think I’ll be able to leave._

“C’mon, we both have stuff to do today. I’ll see you at breakfast?” he speaks, ignoring what he’s really thinking, and smiles when Lance rushes to sit up. 

“No, no. If you’re going to _leave me_ right now like some sort of used napkin, you should at least come back after you’re showered to do face masks.” Keith immediately turns his nose up at this, a strong “hell no” already on his tongue, but Lance pouts his lip again and adds, “Please? It’ll be fun. Besides, your pores def need it.” 

Keith relents, mostly because it’s Lance’s birthday but partially because it doesn’t take much for Lance to convince him of things. And knowing this, he leaves the room before Lance tries to convince him to stay any longer. 

It doesn’t take long for him to shower after that and slip back into his blade uniform (definitely not because it still smells of Lance) and pulls on his boots. 

But it’s while he’s zipping up his right shoe that he notices the neat pile of stationery on the desk in the far corner of his room. Keith had spent so little time in his room, constantly opting to be in Lance’s space rather than be alone, that he hadn’t really taken the time to inspect the room very thoroughly. To him, it had come off as mostly empty and didn’t think much of it beyond that. However, now that he sees the pen and paper on his desk he thinks of the letters Lance had written him and he gets an idea.

\- -

Keith doesn’t think that Lance is capable of surprising him any more than he already has. With the short time he’s known the lanky not-so-stranger who always offers him inviting stares and equally open words, he doesn’t think that there’s anything Lance can do to make his heart leap and beat any faster than it already does. But Keith is easily proven wrong once he reenters Lance’s room, his heart already bursting at the seams and tearing by the threads at the thought of seeing his favorite sharpshooter once more. 

He’s supposing maybe Lance will be in the shower still and he’ll end up waiting for him on the bed, or perhaps Lance is idly looking through his handheld as he waits for Keith to return. Neither of these scenarios are the case. 

Keith is immediately met with a soft voice riding around the premises as he enters the former blue paladin’s quarters, and it only becomes clearer once he’s inside of the room’s attached bathroom. The voice he hears bounces off the walls in a way that feels familiar to his heart rather than his brain, and soon enough he’s able to make out lyrics to a song he’s sure he knows but he can’t place form when or where. 

“ _If I could see through walls, I could see you're faking_ ,” Lance sings to himself while bending over his bathroom’s sink and doing a haphazard job of shaving with some sort of small weapon that’s all blade no razor. “ _If you could see my thoughts you would see our faces._ ” 

As if the sweet melody flowing from Lance’s lips isn’t enough, the paladin is bare by the chest with just half of his body suit on, while the upper half is unzipped and sits riding off his hips, his hair curling at the tips with water that falls onto his neck and slides across his endless plane of brown skin.

Keith is so shell-shocked at the scene- at how wholly and unapologetically Lance it is- that he isn’t sure how to announce his arrival without disturbing the scene he wants to cherish, so it isn’t until Lance is going to rinse his face that he knows the quiet amnesiac standing behind him.

Lance jumps with a start, the towel in his hand dropping in the face bowl, and he laughs nervously instead of finishing the chorus he’d been singing. 

“Damn, Lord Darkquad, you scared me. How long have you been standing there like a _creep_?” 

“Sorry you just… have a nice voice,” Keith says after recollecting himself, and chooses to take his residential seat on Lance’s bathroom counter rather than being embarrassed. 

“You think? Believe it or not, I love singing but I don’t like people knowing that. It’s like, I’m already so handsome and unfairly smart _and_ funny. I’m sure people would be intimidated if they knew I had pipes, too,” Lance laughs, and Keith shoots him an incredulous look. “Okay, fine. My brother Marco has always been the musician in our family and people always told me I couldn’t sing compared to him so I never wanted to. Is that dumb? I feel like it is so-,”

“It’s not dumb. I get it, I think,” Keith interrupts, lightly kicking his legs back and forth with ease. “I kind of never wanted to try that hard at the Garrison because I always felt like I could never fill Shiro’s shoes.” 

Keith isn’t sure if he’s said the wrong thing or not, from the way Lance pauses, but then he laughs while rubbing his face with his towel. 

“Well, then I’m glad you understand.”

“And I’m glad I got to hear you sing.” 

Lance turns to Keith for a minute with a spark and a quiet gleam in his eyes, before turning to his bathroom cabinets and going through a set of jars before pulling out a blue one. “Me too.”

The room falls quiet, with Lance opening the jar and slowly rubbing a thin substance across the cheeks of his face and humming the remainder of his song, before Keith decides to hop off the counter and come up behind the man in front of him. 

“I have something for you…,” Keith says to Lance’s back, suddenly shy, and grabs the letter he’d written just moments ago and forks it over before he can psyche himself out about it. Lance wipes his hand off on a towel before graciously accepting the written message. 

Scared of seeing Lance’s reaction, he buries his face into Lance’s warm back without much thought, and feels a laugh ride up the spin he’s pressed his forehead into. 

“You wrote me a letter?” Lance questions, his voice slathered in chuckles, and Keith nods into his back. 

“Well, yeah. I just… thought I should write you a reply.” 

Lance hums at this, and Keith shuts his eyes tightly as he imagines the words he’d pressed in red ink to paper just for the person his face was pressed against. 

_Hi Sharpshooter. (That’s what you call yourself right?)_

_I just wanted to say thanks for the letters you wrote, they were nice. So I guess I wanted to return the favor? I don’t know if that’s weird or not. If it is you’re not allowed to make fun of me for it._

_Also… thanks for letting me sleep with you last night. That was nice of you too. I had sleepovers a few times as a kid and had to sleep with my foster siblings all the time but... I don’t know I feel a lot more at peace. Or something. So yeah, thank you._

_I don’t know what else to say. How do you make your letters so nice? I guess I just wanted to say thank you, is all._

_And thanks for the things you said yesterday. I know I’ve already said thank you a million times but it really made me feel a lot better. And I want you to know I’m grateful._

_I know I don’t exactly show it, since I wasn’t with you when you got out of the pod, but I am. I do care… and stuff. So yeah. Thanks._

_Sorry if this is weird, I don’t know how you put your thoughts into words._

_-Keith_

Keith imagines these words as Lance sways in front of him, singing a new song and at some point Lance reaches behind him to grab one of Keith’s hands while he reads the letter with the other. It catches him off guard, with a sense of surprise that he isn’t used to. It’s a kind of surprise that he’s completely unprepared for, because it’s not like being jumpscared while playing Silent Hill at 3AM or your ice cream scoop falling off the cone before you can even get a lick; it’s more like receiving an unexpected gift in the mail or a surprise kiss to the forehead. Which are things Keith is unfamiliar with, just as he’s unfamiliar with an early morning Lance reading something _he’s_ written, and seemingly taking it well. 

By the time Lance has reached the second chorus of his song, Keith is antsy, and frees his hand from Lance’s grip to scratch at his wrist nervously. 

“Are you really slow at reading or is my handwriting just that hard to read?” Keith asks, with annoyance he doesn’t mean to carry, but he can’t help the nervousness he wears giving way to a sense of defensiveness. 

“Sorry,” Lance breathes, looking over his shoulder but holding Keith’s written note to his chest. “It’s just… I never would’ve guessed I’d be receiving a letter from _the_ Keith Kogane. I’m a huge fan, you see. I guess I’m just kind of fangirling right now.” 

This is enough to settle Keith’s nervousness, if only a little, and he rolls his eyes before shoving Lance in the shoulder. 

“Shut up,” Keith mutters while doing so, and Lance laughs before gently folding the handwritten message.

“No, really,” the paladin says, a smirk covering a more genuine smile on his face. “I’ve received lots of things from you, you see. Threats, bruises, cuts, a nasty scratch or two. But a _letter?_ That’s definitely a first. And it’s not even hate mail!” 

Lance speaks with complete nonchalance, and goes back to tending to his skin routine after neatly tucking the gifted paper in one of his lower suit pockets. But while Lance is doing this, amusement dripping from his face, Keith feels his face growing hot as he runs Lance’s admissions through his head. Cuts and bruises? Threats and scratches? _From Keith_? No matter the circumstances he thought of, this didn’t make much sense to him at all. The whole “boyfriend” thing was still up in the air, but at the very least weren’t they former teammates? Friends even? Under what conditions could Keith have-

His train of thought is abruptly knocked off its tracks when a dollop of something fresh and wet meets his nose, and he registers Lance staring at him quizzically with one of his creams in his hand. “What’s cooking in that brain of yours, Sasuke?” 

Keith forces a smile before shrugging and wiping the strange substance off of his nose. “Nothing just… old me sounds different.”

“Different?” Lance inquires, ears perking up as he pulls one of his products from his cabinet. 

“It’s-I didn’t think… Do you think I’m different? Without my memories?” Keith struggles, swallowing a lump of anxiety in his throat. 

“I’m going to go with my cocoa butter clay mask for you, if that’s okay,” Lance begins, somehow both tentatively and absentmindedly. “And you’re still you, if that’s what you’re asking. 

“That’s _not_ what I’m asking,” Keith objects as Lance presses a blue headband against his scalp to hold back his fringe. “I’m confused. I thought we got along before now. And I want to know if I’m acting differently.” 

Keith thinks of saying more, but he’s rendered a bit speechless as the red paladin slathers a thick brown substance across his forehead and Lance doesn’t say anything either, a thoughtful look in his brown eyes, and so there’s a beat of silence between them. Lance exhales as Keith holds his breath, and his head spins wildly as he waits for an answer. He wonders, with a furrowed forehead that Lance smooths over with long fingers, why it seems like he’s constantly waiting for Lance’s jurisdiction. 

“Okay. If you’re asking if we got along last Tuesday? Yes. But did we get along last Tuesday and three _years_ ago? Not exactly,” Lance breathes with half a smile, before continuing. “And yeah, I guess you do act a little differently than I’m used to but you-”

“Different how?” Keith demands immediately, more desperate to know than he initially realizes, and the abruptness of his question makes Lance’s hand slip from off his face out of surprise. Keith thinks of apologizing, but doesn’t when Lance chuckles. Keith simply can’t help it- that dying-to-know feeling he gets around Lance. It’s only been a few days since he’s been stuck in this not-quite-himself limbo, but it feels like ages since he’s known Lance. And there’s such a big part of him that’s left with questions regarding their relationship, with his only wish being to fill out that questionnaire. So he stares at Lance with hungry eyes as he settles atop the bathroom counter, and Lance finishes applying Keith’s face mask before washing his hands. 

“You’re not like a totally different person or anything. You’re still very much _Keith_ ,” Lance says this with a demeanor that leaves Keith on edge, because he isn’t sure what to make of it. The words, the tone, or the wistful look on his sharpshooter’s face. “But I think you’ve been a little more… open lately? Usually you’ll say one thing when you mean something else entirely, or you’ll be thinking and I’ll have to pry to get it out of you. But the past few days you’ve been pretty honest. So thanks.” 

Keith takes this in the best he can, but no matter which way he turns the words over he can’t get a clear cut view of what that says about him. The _real_ him. Nor does it say much about who he is to Lance, or vice versa. Or maybe it does, but he doesn’t want to address the implications because he doesn’t find them favorable. 

By the time he’s decided that he doesn’t like this set of news, and he’d like to hear something else, Lance has already washed off his own face mask and hands Keith a towel for himself. 

“So… I don’t usually tell you things?” Keith asks quietly, after doing his best to wipe off the dried bits of skin regimen on his face.

“No, you do. You just have your reserves I guess. But it’s not like we aren’t all that way, some more than others.” 

Keith thinks on this for a second, before getting into another flurry of thoughts.

“Did you ever write me notes before?” 

This question seems to catch Lance off guard, though Keith isn’t sure why, but he definitely makes note of the way Lance freezes like a cartoon character caught robbing a bank and turns to meet Keith’s eye sheepishly. 

“I guess so,” Lance replies with a low voice. 

“Did I keep them?” Keith swings his feet nervously, and Lance laughs. 

“I don’t see why you would. They never said anything important.” Lance seems to sound almost bitter with these words, and it makes Keith frown.

Keith swallows as his heart swells with this information, and he glances at Lance’s reflection in the mirror. 

_I’m sure it was important to me._

“You sure do have a lot of questions this morning, and all before breakfast at that, yeesh.” Lance pulls on the remainder of his undersuit, and the former black paladin supposes this is likely the end of their conversation. But he doesn’t make any movements, thinking still on what Lance had said only moments ago, and the old blue paladin takes the opportunity to enter his space and stand in the place between his legs. “And another thing…”

Keith waits for Lance to finish his thought, but before he does he stares at Keith with those big brown eyes that carry an immeasurable weight. Keith thinks there are probably seas of honey and skies of tender kindness behind those eyes. That maybe his irises are rimmed with affection and something deeper and more thoughtful in the pupil, with everything left unsaid folded in the corneas. Because the eyes are the windows to the soul, right?

 _Or maybe they’re just eyes,_ Keith thinks. _Eyes that just seem to stand out because they’re Lance’s._

Keith debates between these two possibilities while Lance looks down at him, determination on his face, and he takes Keith’s towel before adjusting his head just so. 

“You’re usually all squirmy about being touched. Like I’m burning you or something,” Lance finally finishes while wiping a small remaining swipe of face cream, and Keith furrows his eyebrows as his gut swoops. 

It’s seconds later that Lance is several feet away from him again, combing his hair now and whistling a fresh tune. And for the first time perhaps since he woke up, Keith’s head is clear. 

  
  


\- -

  
  


Mornings have always been Keith’s favorite part of the day. Not because he believes in mornings representing fresh starts or because he’s particularly a morning person, but because he can’t deny that he’s always been a big fan of breakfast food. And Hunk only fortifies this with a gourmet meal on the table by the time Keith and Lance finally exit Lance’s room, hearts heavy and skin aglow. 

Lance gives Hunk a side eye mixed with a smile upon entering the dining room, which makes for an odd expression that Keith easily reads through, but thinks nothing of as Hunk offers him a plate. 

“I just thought I’d make a nice breakfast to help you feel better about… _recent events,_ and commemorate our last day on this lovely planet,” Hunk says when Lance questions the large meal of an array of foods and juices, and Lance settles with a genuine thanks. Until Hunk adds on, “Amongst other things.” 

Lance goes to say something, but he’s quickly cut off by Shiro who launches into the (fake) missions that everyone is assigned for the day, and quickly the conversation takes a loud and unruly turn. 

It makes Keith think of Lance saying Keith’s usually reserved, and he genuinely wonders why. He knows he’s always been an introvert who’s never done great at the whole talking thing or much interaction in general. But he finds himself smitten with the people he’s seated in front of, as they talk excitedly to one another about whatever crosses their minds and tiptoe over the details of what they’re _actually_ going to do for the day instead of the fake missions they created to keep Lance unsuspecting. Keith knows he isn’t much for talking, but he can’t help but comment and laugh along with them because maybe, just maybe, they’re family. Maybe his heart has a home in them, too. (Though he can’t say it’s the same two-story, prefurnished condo his heart lives in with Lance.)

Then, when halfway through the meal one of Lance’s feet snakes its way through Keith’s leg, he can’t imagine himself squirming or writhing at this kind of touch. Or any sort of physical sentiment from Lance, really. As he wraps his lower legs tightly around Lance’s curious boot, ankles and all, all he can think of is appreciating such a thing, if not melting into the touch. 

Before long, breakfast has been consumed and the table has been cleared, and Hunk and Lance are being sent on their way for another mission. 

“I think it’s a bit ironic I’m being sent on yet _another_ mission in light of quote-on-quote ‘recent events,’” Lance half-complains with air quotes as he fastens his bayard to his belt and Hunk packs a bag for their trip.

“It’s just a trip to one of the nearby surrounding islands for a special fruit one of the natives recommended for tonight’s dinner. I’m sure it’ll be fun, I’ve heard only good things of the Junigenia jungles,” Allura reassures, and soon she’s forcing the red and yellow paladin out of the castle doors with force. 

The remaining members of the castles wait a few seconds after Hunk and Lance have left their presence, the red lion and all traces of its owner gone, as they await for the second to jump into action. But as soon as the coast is clear, they’re scattering like mice to tend to their plans. 

With most of the tasks being taken care of by the Junnigee kingdom, their main task at hand is to oversee everything and ensure things are to their standards, and so Pidge and Coran leave to curate music and visuals, Allura goes to the castle to speak with the Junnigee royalty, while Shiro and Keith are left to inspect the decorations of the venue. 

This works in Keith’s favor, he decides, when he enters the court of the castle’s ballroom. But the thing that catches his eye the most is the garden of the Junnigee castle that’s made of a well manicured array of plants and their flowers, complimented by a series of trellises and paths that stands outside of the ballroom and leads to a crisp and welcoming beach. He can’t help the smile that presses into his features as he imagines the night Lance will have at such a place, with the spotlight on him, just as it should be. 

He’s still smiling when a group of Junnigee servants approach him and Shiro with urgency, insisting the brothers help them further tend to the ballroom with last minute details. Moments later he’s tying a string of tightly woven jahnia flowers that glow by the tips along the wall, and Shiro hums while holding the ladder-like structure under him. 

He’s nearly done an entire wall up with flowers about an hour later, with the only pauses being in which Shiro slightly shifts his ladder, when he realizes he hasn’t spoken to his brother through the entire ordeal. So when he climbs down to move on with the next task, he pops a quizzical expression in Takashi’s direction. 

“You’ve been quiet…,” Keith observes as a Junnigee hands them streamer-like cloth strips to dye a pastel color and hang as decoration. 

Shiro seems to be taken by surprise from Keith’s sudden attempt at conversation, and he exhales loudly before blinking rapidly. “Oh, I, um. Guess I didn’t know what to say is all.”

Keith considers for a second that perhaps his brother is tip-toeing around him due to the heaviness of their last private conversation, but he ignores the thought. “Well, what are you thinking about?” 

Shiro pauses, dipping a streamer in a small pool of pink held in a wooden bucket and he shrugs. Keith listens to the bird-like creatures whistle a forlorning tune from somewhere in the distance as they sit on stumps in the castle's garden, and he waits patiently for an answer. 

“Um, well… you and Lance huh?” Shiro laughs a bit with a tone that reminds the past black paladin of his father, and he begins to dye streamers with a newfound vigoration as his face catches aflame with a flush. 

“What makes you say that?” he asks, attempting an unbothered approach, but his voice cracks halfway through and he finds himself unable to make eye contact with the man beside him. 

“Well, I just so _happened_ to drop my fork this morning. And I couldn’t help but notice that _somebody’s_ legs were-”

“Okay, you’ve made your point,” Keith cuts off, and Shiro immediately laughs. 

“That’s- wow. You guys are really something else.” 

“What do you mean?” Keith dares to ask, as if he isn’t still recovering from his initial embarrassment and trying to get a hold of himself. 

“I don’t know, I guess I wasn’t expecting you guys to still be in love and everything while your memories are gone but I suppose it makes sense. You two always find your way to each other somehow. Unless you actually remember him?” 

Keith manages to shake his head ‘no,’ but he isn’t sure how he even accomplishes _that_ much, because he nearly swallows and chokes on his own tongue at the word ‘love.’ 

What does Shiro mean he’s in love with Lance?! Like, sure Lance is hot and nice and has nice eyes and smells good and is easy to be around and… okay there’s a lot of things he admires about Lance. But _love_? 

That was like… well Keith didn’t know what that was like, really. He knew that he liked Lance a ton, and wanted him to like him too, but he couldn’t make sense of things being more than that. He couldn’t make sense of things that were beyond admiration and respect and adoration. Even if he knew the things he felt for Lance were somewhat beyond words or beyond his own understanding- a little more than everything- he couldn’t be sure that was _love_. And what if it was? Did Lance actually love him back? 

And if so, what the fuck was he supposed to do then?!

He felt as though he was going in circles, his inner monologue mirroring when Pidge had so casually mentioned Lance was his boyfriend except with ten times the desperation and uncertainty. 

He wished he had his memories more than ever, and he discreetly cursed Shiro for bringing up something as important as that with no warning. 

When he actually tunes back into Shiro, snapping himself out of his thoughts and reconsidering where he was and why, Shiro was staring at him oddly with a streamer half-dipped in a bucket of purple dye. 

“You good, bro?” Shiro questions, and Keith can’t help but scowl.

“You said we…,” the former paladin hesitates, before reconsidering his words and sighing. “How do you know you love somebody?”

The black paladin arches an eyebrow at him, before chuckling and patting Keith on the back. “Oh, I see.”

“What?” Keith immediately demands. “What do you see?” 

“Don’t worry about it, kiddo. Just… you’ll know when you know.”

“That doesn’t even make any sense!” Keith protests, nearly spilling a bucket of blue dye as he turns in his seat with eccentric movement, and Shiro cocks his head back with a laugh that Keith doesn’t think he’s ever seen on the older man. 

It makes him forget where he is, or the worry lines and wrinkles and contrast of white hair that frames his sibling’s face. It makes his heart settle comfortably as he momentarily forgets his current stresses and thinks that maybe this is the Shiro he knows. Or if not, this is still a Shiro that a part of him knows well. 

“Tell me what you know, old man,” Keith insists with a laugh, and Shiro laughs with him. 

“Alright, alright. Sensei Shiro will deliver a _bit_ of knowledge, so listen close young grasshopper,” Shiro chuckles, clearly amused with himself, and Keith rolls his eyes before actually deciding to listen. “Love is different for everybody, I guess. No two relationships are going to be the same, I don’t think, but the important part is how you feel about the person you love. Or _think_ you love. Sometimes you understand them, other times you might not but you don’t always have to. Sometimes they’ll be patient with you, and other times they might lose their temper, but the important part is they apologize and eventually explain how they were feeling. Sometimes you’ll open up to them, and vice versa, and other times you’ll be closed off. But the important part is you can still seek them out and they’ll be there to listen when you’re ready for them.”

Shiro scratches his chin, black eyes rimming with a warm gaze. “Love is lots of things, I guess. And like I said it’s never the same, but you still know you feel it before you even recognize what that feeling is.” 

Again, Keith isn’t sure his brother is making perfect sense, but he still graciously accepts the information with an immeasurable amount of gratitude. The concept- of love, of patience, of apologies, of understanding, of being there always- is so new to him he thinks the sweet wind of the tropical planet might sweep right past him as he loses his breath. Such an idea of affection and devotion is fresh in the way pages make ripe papercuts. He supposes perhaps he’s fallen in love with Lance, and he’s scraped his knee badly. And such a gash doesn’t quite compare to papercuts, so he’s at a loss. 

The only person he thinks he might have loved without conditions was his dad, but he doesn’t think Lance can quite compare to Takayuki Kogane. So he furrowed his eyebrows as he tried to make sense of it all, and pushed a lock of hair behind his ear with a frown and a new question. 

“How did you know you love Adam?” Keith asks, and he almost blushes at how he says it so innocently and without much thought. As those he’s naive and unbent like a toddler, and he’s not the full-grown man that he is. Or is _said_ to be. Right then, he still feels to be fourteen: confused, scared, and slightly hormonal. 

Shiro goes taut by the shoulders and grim by the mouth, and sets his large hands in his lap slowly. Keith swears he’s seen this look before- this unburying the hatchet and reminiscing on the life I’ve had look- and he thinks of his father all those years ago. Of his father telling him little details of his mother, and all the ways he fell in love with her everyday. And such a memory makes Keith listen all the more. 

“Um, well, he just… he was my other half I guess. I couldn’t imagine a life without him, and didn’t really want to, and I made sure he knew that. But he made it pretty easy, you know? Like, it’s not that I wasn’t complete without him or anything, but he made me better,” Shiro flushes as he says this, his voice low and his head ducked as he narrows his eyes in a bucket of pink liquid instead of meeting Keith’s eye. “I don’t know if that’s how you feel, or if that’s how you’re _supposed_ to feel. But Adam was the person that just seemed to make everything worthwhile, even if things weren’t easy all the time.” 

Shiro taps his foot a few times, his boot no longer shiny from scuffing the garden’s dirt and rocks as the two walked through it earlier. Keith hyper focuses on this when he notices that Shiro describes Adam with “was” instead of “is,” as though to say that chapter of his life has already been closed. He doesn’t dare think to ask what happened in between now and when he last saw Adam, because he knows his initial question was insensitive enough. And he wishes that he hadn’t even brought it up while guilt piles on his shoulders in the midst of silence. 

He thinks of what to say to him, though his mouth goes dry and his head throbs. Lucky for him, Shiro speaks up before him and reassures him with a smile. 

“Hey Keith,” he says, and Keith’s ears rim red as he anticipates what Shiro might have to say. But he doesn’t think he’d ever be able to guess his brother’s next words. “I love you.”

Keith is a bit shell-shocked at these words, and blinks several times as he wraps his head around the sentence. But when it finally gets through to him, he thinks of all the ways Shiro reminds him of his dad, and the way he’d scooped him from his foster home and given him the second chance he’d desperately needed at such a painful point of his life. 

So he offers Takashi his best smile and nods. “I love you, too.” 

\- -

  
  


It’s several hours later, when Junnigee’s first sun is setting and honey golds are reaching the shy purple and peaches of the sky’s lavender color, that Keith finds himself reconvened with another half of Team Voltron- Pidge and Allura- as the time nears for Lance and Hunks’s arrival. There’s hardly any preparations left to tend to, and so the group waits idly near their designated places as Pidge occasionally checks her handheld to get the greenlight from Hunk, Allura interchanges between nervously chewing at her hair and inspecting local decorations, and Keith… well Keith isn’t doing much but thinking. Although, in his defense, there’s a lot to think about. 

“Allura, Keith, could you two _please_ stop it. You’re freaking me out!” Pidge cries after looking from her small device, and Keith takes the moment to register that he's been picking petals off of a flower and Allura drops a lock of hair from her mouth. 

“Sorry, I’m just excited! But also worried. But mostly excited!” Allura explains with a laugh, not even really convincing herself. 

“There’s no reason to be worried,” Keith says aloud, and he means it. It’s not like Lance can exactly blow up at them for showing their love and appreciation for him with an awesome birthday party. 

“Then why are _you_ all antsy?” Pidge questions with a inquisitive brow paired with a bored frown that makes Keith avoid eye contact. He doesn’t exactly know how to explain he’s not nervous about the Lance-liking-the-party part. 

“I know that look,” Allura chimes when Keith doesn’t say anything, her original skin of nerves shed for something more radiant. “That’s the face you get with something’s troubling you. What is it?” 

Keith shoots Allura a perturbed glance, but it’s already too late and Pidge has already begun to sink her claws into the situation. “Oh my gosh, you’re right. Spill Kogane.”

“There’s nothing to spill, it’s… nothing.” 

“Let us have those beans!” Allura says, shaking Keith by the arm a bit, and he fixes her with a confused stare that makes her frown. “Did I get the expression right?” 

“Aced it, Princess,” Pidge laughs, and the warm atmosphere is enough for Keith to remember that he’s with people that are actually his friends. He thinks of both of them spilling _their_ “beans” to him on separate occasions, even as he is now- whole but not full of who he usually is- and he thinks that it’s only fair he’s honest with them. At the very least, maybe talking to someone other than his brother will help him clear his mind on what’s eating at him. 

“So… you guys know how Lance and I are…” Keith isn’t sure what to say after this, because he has no idea who or _what_ he is to Lance. Not that it exactly matters, because as soon as he says ‘Lance,’ Allura is half-giggling and half-squealing while Pidge is laughing with an unappreciated I-totally-called-it smirk. 

“Courting?” Allura finishes for him with an innocent and genuine smile. 

“Boyfriends?” Pidge tag-teams with something not so innocent. 

“Soulmates?” 

“Partners?”

“Married?”

Keith blinks rapidly at this, but chokes particularly at the last part. 

“I’m sorry, what?” he asks, head churning at quickly. 

“My apologies, just manifesting for the future,” Allura shrugs with a laugh, and Pidge rolls her eyes as Keith sighs in relief. 

“Sorry, we got carried away. What was your original question?” Pidge tries as Keith settles on the ground, overcome with an overwhelming sensation and he shakes his head furiously. 

“I-I don’t know! It’s… well, Shiro said I’m in love with him and- when did _that_ happen? _How_ did it happen? I mean, Lance is great and all but… I don’t know.” _I don’t know when I started letting myself love people._

He feels Pidge and Allura shift above him before they both take a ginger seat beside him, with Junnigee feet and flippers shuffling around them as they sit along the ballroom’s walls. 

“So… you don’t think you like him?” Allura says with a melancholy voice that greatly contrasts her original excitement. 

“It’s not that. I think… well he’s cool. Neat. Uh, really great. But that doesn’t mean I can just.. feel that way.” Keith mutters as he brings his knees up to his chest and tries to bury his face. He’s quickly finding that he’s been carrying out a lot of firsts lately. First time comforting people with their worries and insecurities, first time telling Shiro he cared about him, first time… wondering if he cared about somebody _else. Romantically._

It was a lot to handle as somebody who still hadn’t gotten past level fifty-four in _Super Mario Brothers_ and had just gotten out of his picky-eater-that- only-eats-hot-pockets phase three months ago. Well, that he could remember. Maybe his current self- the part that he didn’t remember- had finished his favorite video game ages ago and hadn’t had a hot pocket since he’d left Earth. But that didn’t change the fact that from what he _could_ remember, he was still young and unfamiliar to this world of loving people and being okay with that. Of it even _being_ an option to care that deeply for someone. And he was starting to wish he’d written himself some sort of manual or guide of what to do in case of emergencies like this, but he was sure that if he didn’t get some answers _real soon_ he was going to _die_ and birthday parties and amnesia would be the least of everyone’s worries. 

“Why can’t you? Feel ‘that way,’ I mean?” Pidge pries, and Allura places an arm on his shoulder.

“Indeed, what is prohibiting you from properly enjoying the red paladin’s company?” Allura asks, which Keith recognizes as legitimate confusion, and it’s enough to have him unbury his head. 

“I don’t know. Not used to this kind of thing, I guess. And I don’t want to say or do anything I wouldn’t usually do, but I don’t know what I’m usually like towards him. Or what to even act like when I can hardly even remember,” he admits, though there’s so much more on his mind. There’s the thought that not only is he _not_ used to whatever “this” is, but he’s also scared of what might happen if he lets himself get used to it. To the sweet but never sour gazes he receives from Lance, and the gratifying laugh he hears from him, or the softer-than-soft brushes of contact. He can’t say he thinks he even deserves such a thing, because who in the world does? Such a delicate thing, from a person like Lance, doesn’t seem real to him. 

“Well, who’s to say Lance isn’t just as unsure as you are?” Pidge says, causing the princess to nod sagely in agreement. 

“It’s true. I’ve been sworn to secrecy, but I’m sure he’d understand my intentions in telling you that Lance is not without his own doubts and preservations in regard to his relationship with you. But that isn’t to say he doesn't adore you, either,” she says, a lock of hair falling across her forehead as she offers reassurances. 

Keith thinks on this for several seconds, indecisive of how to feel or react to the respective information. He had been so sure that, well, _Lance_ was sure. With every touch and glance and word shared, Lance had felt familiar as though he’d received such glances and touches and conversations with the red paladin a million times before. It hadn’t occurred to him that maybe that was just Lance- the kind of person that feels like home in that sort of chicken noodle soup and quilts nostalgia type of way, even if there wasn’t much familiarity there at all. 

This served to help him feel just a bit better, though it didn’t entirely clear his head, unfortunately. Before any member of the trio could get another word in, Pidge was receiving word (a simple “ _OMW:D”_ ) from Hunk via her handheld, and he knew that the conversation was over. Mostly. 

It was when they were shuffling in preparation for the arriving star of the party that Allura reached for his wrist and gave it a gentle pull, and met his navy storm of irises to her blue and pink sea for eyes. 

“I’m sorry our conversation was cut abrupt, but I just want you to know that I consider you and Lance a good pair because you two… seem to complete each other,” she says with a misplaced determination, her eyes meeting his but her actual consciousness never quite reaching him. As though he was looking at her while she was looking at something much farther and deeper that only he could see. “I know maybe it’s not my place to say, but I think you guys make a good team.” 

Keith blinks at her, completely caught off guard, because of all the things she could’ve said that definitely wasn’t in the running. But in an instant she’s scurrying to the garden behind the ballroom, and Keith is blushing furiously as he follows her outside while a drum-like instrument sounds overhead and Shiro finds his way to him, Pidge, and Allura. 

Keith is a bit stunned at what he sees, rendered speechless as he comes to find a line of Junnigee marching in place with drums tied at their hips and their tails slapping their instruments loudly, with a large five-legged creature of a bright magenta color at the end of the line. And atop the animal, draped in a necklace of blue flowers and face brighter than the animal he was riding, is Lance with an unreadable expression on his face. Behind him rides Hunk, who waves at the Junnigee crowd in the gardens and then at his group of his friends as they stand in front, shocked and in awe. 

“Oh my God,” they all say in unison, perhaps from years of mind-meld sessions or from the indescribable amount of shock that they felt at seeing Lance carefully escorted from the animal’s back, along with Hunk, and being guided to a seat at the garden’s arranged throne between the kingdom’s royalty. 

The king dips his hand in what looks to be a pot of small white paint, smears an unfamiliar symbol across Lance’s forehead, and the Junnigee natives cheer as the second sun begins to set. 

“Let the festivities begin!” the queen cries, and a new line of Junnigee performers march in while Lance is urged to take a seat on the throne and the remainder of the island’s natives cheer louder. 

As if things couldn’t get any more… _peculiar,_ the line of dancers is led by none other than Coran. 

“I don’t know what I was expecting, but this isn’t it,” Shiro laughs, his voice a bit disbelieving, though it’s hard to hear him over the loud crowd surrounding the group, along with the music of the parade that passes through. 

Keith takes a peek at the throne again, about ten feet off the ground and surrounded by Junnigee guards, and he makes out Hunk who’s standing not even five feet away within the crowd and dancing happily to the loud drums and whistles and other instruments. Then of course there’s the queen, on her throne bathed in white and pink and her scaled skin reflecting the setting suns’ rays. To her far left there’s the king, in robes of blues and purples and his eyes all glowing a vibrant yellow and his hands clapping along to the beat of the parade’s drums. 

And elevated just a foot or so above the rest of the garden’s platform, if only just to accentuate that he’s the cause of all the fuss, there’s Lance sitting atop a golden chair decorated in golden lights and iridescent pearls. He still wears his paladin armor, blue and thick and heavy as always, but somehow fitting as he sits there as a celebrated soldier in a war that waits for no one. 

But as Keith just barely makes out his face from the distance, he realizes that the red paladin’s eyes are tied to him and he begins to grow clammy by the palms as he realizes Lance isn’t smiling. As he comes to see that the expression on the man’s expression isn’t glee or even astoundment. It’s a loathing look of aversion, that isn’t even subtle or discreet. 

And Keith thinks that maybe, just maybe, he’s fucked up. 

\- -

Keith will admit, the Junnigee people definitely knew how to throw a party. 

The remaining parts of the parade felt objectively long and hard to withstand after he’d realized that not only was Lance _not_ happy, but the birthday boy in question was boring holes into his head from twenty feet away, above half the Junnigee population in an over glorified high chair. Still, Keith had to admit that what he _did_ make of the parade was nothing to sneeze at. There was a wide range of dancers, in a variety of costumes and dancing styles that consisted of complicated footwork and impressive flips and turns. In between these acts there seemed to be flame, and at times _water_ , throwers or sword swallowers and jugglers. Keith wasn’t sure what to make of half of this, and still wasn’t sure when the second act of the parade was led into the castle’s immense ballroom through its back door and the crowd excitedly followed. 

Lance’s chair was carried with dignified arms by guards, along with the king and queen, and was once again placed atop a throne with the change of scene. 

The Junnigee were sure to finish their final act with a flourish as a large crowd of performers danced and sang across the stage, instruments louder than ever, and the crowd immediately applauded and roared loudly, while Lance only gave unsure claps that were nothing short of nervousness. 

After this performance, loud music played overhead and Lance seemed to speak to the king and queen for a few minutes before they finally allowed him to descend from his gifted throne and entered the mass of Junnigee dancing to the music that was playing. But before long, he was swept away by excited natives who shared words with him unbeknownst to Keith. 

Lance was forced into several exchanges with natives, and Keith watched helplessly as Lance smiled or even occasionally laughed, and gratefully accepted gifts of all kinds or took pictures or even danced. But somehow, he knew that despite the large smile plastered on his face, Lance wasn’t really happy. Not deep down. 

Under the gestures of gratitude and compassion Lance offered the natives, there was some sense of contempt or something worse. The grin gracing his features seemed all but authentic, and it made Keith’s gut wrench. 

But before he could do anything about it, he was swept away just as Lance had been. 

While the guest of honor mingled with locals, Pidge insisted Keith met (or remet?) her brother- Matt-who had just recently arrived for the festivities. Which of course led to a fifteen minute conversation about how and why Keith had lost his memories and then ofcourse there’s a young fan who for some reason recognizes him as an (ex) paladin of Voltron and wants him to take a picture with them and all sixteen of their siblings. And by the time _that’s_ done and settled, Hunk is bounding his way to Keith and insisting he tries some of the outdoor activities with him along the beach just past the castle garden. So before Keith can ask what kisa-logging even _is_ , he’s riding some sort of strange plank off of a weirdly shaped wave. 

This is quickly followed by catching flying cormi bugs with Allura in the garden greenhouse as some sort of juvenile game she enjoys way too much, and drinking swalinga juice with Matt and Shiro at the bar, followed by a quick lunch of horahora fish sandwiches and it’s only then that he actually gets a chance to catch his breath and actually _think._ He remembers his original concern regarding Lance, and he excuses himself from his conversation with Matt and Shiro to search for the party’s man of honor. 

But when Keith actually finds Lance, speaking to one of the many natives with particularly shiny scales and excitedly flaring gills, he wonders if maybe if he’s in over his head. 

He’s still thinking this, pinned up against the wall near one of the hors d'oeuvre tables, when he feels a tap on one of his folded arms and he jumps from the sudden touch.

“Hey,” Pidge says, her voice absent of any remorse for scaring him, and offers him a fresh cup of swalinga juice. “I don’t know what you’re thinking about, but if your face is anything to go by I’m guessing you can use something to take the edge off.” 

Keith takes the cup with huff and sips it mindlessly before laughing. “Not sure juice exactly helps taking the edge off, but thanks.” 

“Actually, Coran spiked it with nunvill or something when I told him what usually happens at people’s twenty-first birthday,” Pidge clarifies while taking a sip of her drink, and Keith nearly chokes. 

“Lance is twenty-one?”

“As of today, yeah. You didn’t think to ask?”

Keith blinks rapidly while shaking his head even faster, and Pidge laughs before finishing off her cup. “Believe it or not, you’re actually older than him by like half a year.” 

“Then how old are _you_?”

“Eighteen, thanks for asking,” she answers, her voice monotone, and doesn’t hesitate to steal Keith’s drink as he stares off into the distance. 

“Damn, I feel old,” he whispers. “I never would’ve guessed I’d make it this far.” 

With this new knowledge it comes to be odd to him how just days ago he’d awoken thinking he was still in the Garrison, believing his body was too big and his jar of memories too small. But somehow this information really sets into place his understanding that this was all real. That this- the moment he was living, the conversation he was having, the boy, er, _man_ he was longing for- was all real. Not some odd fever dream or bend of realities or some weird quantum abyss type shit. He really had a life, out here with these people who apparently gave a damn about him, and had seemingly grown up with him. 

But the thought doesn’t seem to translate very well to Pidge, who stares at him oddly before grimacing. “Gee, morbid much?” 

Keith laughs nervously before shaking his head. “I didn’t mean it like that, it's just… you know, I never expected to have a moment like this. A time where I feel like I don’t _completely_ hate life and I’m not dying of desperation for some sort of attention or something stupid like that,” he explains, and pauses to catch his grounding because he knows that feeling of loneliness all too well, and he knows it’s not stupid at all. That it’s one of the most painful things from his childhood. “Growing up, even before my dad passed, I always thought I’d be alone for the most part. But I don’t feel alone right now, I don’t think. I know I’ve got Team Voltron- and your brother apparently- and I feel okay knowing that I’m all grown up and you guys helped me get here.” 

Keith thinks of saying something else- because those words he’s just uttered are unashamedly honest but felt odd sliding out of his throat. Yet he's rendered speechless when he catches sight of Pidge, her owlish eyes taking him in at full volume and it unsettles him a bit. The way the amber coloring of her irises peel away at something past his outer shell, and she inspects all there is to see and more. 

“It could just be that I’m tipsy,” she admits, “but I think that's the most profound thing you’ve ever said.” 

Keith cocks his head back into an effortless chuckle, with slight tints of red spreading across his face like jam on toast, because he knows it to likely be true. Perhaps it’s the sense of relatability he finds in Pidge, in spite of everything, or her holding a sort of sibling dynamic with him, but he finds it easy to speak to her with unfiltered honesty. This makes Keith think of what Lance had said that morning- about Keith being more open as of late- and he wonders what his conversations with Pidge had been like before. 

“It’s true,” Keith admits after a moment, lacking resignation as Pidge empties the second cup of swalinga-nunvil cocktail. “But I’m more interested in figuring out why you’re trying to drown yourself in alien alcohol instead of enjoying the party with your brother. Matt was looking for you earlier, ya know.”

At this, Pidge stops chewing on the fruit cubes from the bottom of her drink and swallows thickly with something heavy on her shoulders. 

“I don’t want to bother you with my dumb problems.”

“You could never bother me.” Keith speaks with all the intensity of a firecracker and the certainty of a certified ace attorney, perhaps just relieved to redirect his burning heart and aching brain to focus on someone _other_ than himself. Something other than his ongoing predicament with a particular paladin. 

Pidge fidgets with her fingers for a few seconds, before setting her empty glass down on a nearby table and sighing.

“Okay, fine. I guess I’m basically freaking out because my dad wants me to talk with my mom and I don’t know what to say.” She spits the words out like tobacco or tar she mistaken for liquorice candy, with her voice bordering on strained and impatient, though the things she says are delivered slow and sticky with trepidation. 

“Wait, really? But I thought your mom was on Earth?” Keith speaks, genuinely surprised but even more so excited for his friend. 

“She is. But you know how my dad went to Earth to warn the Garrison about the intergalactic war or whatever? Well, he got there last week and I called him to set up a connection with one of Earth’s bases so we can all have access to things like satellites. So now we can use stuff like Skype and iTunes.” Keith nods at this information, now understanding how Jennifer Lopez was currently playing overhead, despite them being on a foreign planet. 

“So what’s wrong then? Don’t you want to talk to your mom?”

“Of _course_ I do,” Pidge answers immediately, as if it’s of utmost importance he knows that she undoubtedly adores her mother, while weaving one of her small bony hands through her hair. “But I’m not really sure what to say, I guess. I mean… I just disappeared off the face of the Earth- literally- and now, years later, I’m just supposed to act like nothing happened? What if she’s mad at me? What if I’m not the kid she raised me to be?” 

Keith watches as Pidge angrily swipes a free hand across her face, and he pretends not to notice the bank of tears she’s just barely keeping at bay.

“I don’t think your parents want to pretend like nothing happened. I think she misses you, and would be to talk to you no matter who you are now,” he offers, and thinks back to what few ideas he has of mothers and that breed of love. “I guess I wouldn’t know much about moms, but I remember a really long time ago I had this friend with a really nice mom. I didn’t know all that much about her, but she was like the nicest person I’ve ever met.”

“Even nicer than Hunk?” Pidge interrupts.

“I think they were nice in a different way,” Keith laughs with a shrug before continuing. “But, like, she treated me like her son even though I didn’t know her all that well. And I think that stood out to me the most about her, cause she never really cared about who I was or anything like that. She was just happy when I’d come over to play with her son and I was always good enough for her. Even when I made mistakes or said the wrong thing, she never made me feel like I didn’t belong. And I-I don’t know what _your_ mom is like but I think that’s just a mom thing. The unconditional love part, I mean. I don’t think it matters who you are, she’ll love you anyways. That’s just what moms are supposed to be like. So if your mom is, like, a good mom then don’t worry. I’m sure she loves you.” 

Keith takes a deep breath after his near monologue, and scratches his chin after speaking because he isn’t sure how well his words transported well or if he made good sense. But if the way Pidge’s eyes shine over and she offers him the smallest of smiles are any tell, he supposes he did an alright job.

“Alright,” she sniffles. “Now that you know about all my personal problems, fess up; what’s going on with you and Lance?” 

Keith rolls his eyes, as though he has no idea as to what she’s alluding to, and she punches him in the arm. 

“C’mon!” Pidge insists. “I _see_ you moping around here and avoiding him on his _birthday_. Which, may I add, is a huge contrast to you guys being all gross and playing footsies at the breakfast table. What’s going on? Still freaking out over that love thing?” 

Keith pouts and thinks over his next words carefully, and stares at the scuffs in his boots. He counts twelve scratches in the heavy metal before meeting Pidge’s eyes and sighing. 

“I don’t know… I guess, um- well… Does Lance seem upset to you? Like about the party and stuff?” 

Pidge looks across the dance hall and searches through the near distance for a few seconds before her eyes settle, and Keith traces her line of sight before his eyes settle on Lance a couple feet away chatting with Hunk and Allura- all three of them covered in flowers from head to toe and wearing an exuberant smile. Lance doesn’t look as petulant by the eyes as he had earlier, but there’s still something there underneath the smile he wears. And it causes Keith to briskly look away, his face turning cold. 

“He seems fine to me,” Pidge answers coolly, clearly ignorant to Keith’s inner thoughts. “He loves being the center of attention, did you know that? His ego’s like a huge sponge that can never be filled.” 

This causes Keith to smile, however timidly, and pinches at his wrist a few times before nodding. 

“Okay, you’re probably right. I just can’t shake the feeling he’s mad.” 

“Maybe he is,” Pidge says while taking one of the snacks a Junnigee servant offers her. “If you think he is, I don’t doubt you’re wrong. You’re better at picking up signals from him than anyone else. But if he’s upset, I don’t think it’s about the party. Either way, you should talk to him.” 

Pidge licks some sticky dessert from her fingers, while Keith tries to deliberate over her words, and finds that she’s likely right. Just as he feared. 

“Fine, I’ll talk to him,” he inevitably settles, deciding there’s no use in playing a game of emotional hop-scotch with Lance. Not only was that a waste of a perfectly good party, but it was just plain childish. But quickly, remembering what he had spoken with Pidge about only moments earlier, he adds on, “if you promise to talk to your mom.” 

Pidge grunts at this, but relents nonetheless.

“Okay, deal,” she says, offering him her hand that Keith shakes gingerly after deciding that it _isn’t_ the hand she was just licking extraterrestrial dessert from. He smiles brightly, though he’s screaming internally at the notion of having to speak to Lance soon, and he’s grateful when she adds, “But first, help me sober up a little?” 

Keith sighs in relief knowing his inevitable awkward conversation with the red paladin can be prolonged, and more than happily guides Pidge to the bar where Shiro and Matt still sit, and she gets herself a glass of a drink _close_ to water. 

Somehow he’s roped into a story of one of Matt and Shiro’s escapades at the Garrison, and listens intently as though there’s no other place he oughta be. Some time later, after all three of Junigenia’s suns have set and the sky is a deep purple, Hunk finds his way to the group and he’s roping them into a game of something a whole lot like water-polo. Pidge excuses herself, saying she has a phone call to make, and gives Keith an arched eyebrow. 

He knows exactly what this means- that it’s his turn to take the initiative they both agreed on- but accepts Hunk’s invitation anyway and pretends not to notice Pidge’s scowl. 

It’s one or two games later, when Keith is cold from the night’s unforgiving sea, that he decides to call it quits and makes his way out of the rosy ocean water. 

He tells himself he’ll talk to Lance as soon as his hair is no longer wet and he’s stopped shivering, mostly because he isn’t sure how he’d feel trying to have a conversation with the man who’s steadily on his mind while wearing the equivalent of borrowed alien swim trunks with a soaked fringe. But also because he still hasn’t whipped up a proper script or the confidence to talk to Lance, so he leaves and seeks out Coran for refuge from his own guilt. 

But the universe seems to have other plans for him regarding when he should talk to Lance, because when Coran announces he’s about to play what sounds a whole lot like shuffle board but with fire balls, Keith does a full one-eighty turn and seeks a safe place to air dry along the far edge of the Junnigee gardens. 

It doesn’t take long for him to come across just what he’d been _actually_ running away from, though. Several minutes into his walk, he encounters an overgrown tree with an unfamiliar white fruit budding off its branches and vines intertwined around its bark. Surrounding it is a large bed of flowers, all of the same breed and pinky hues. 

And in this flower bed sits Lance, laying on his back with a leg over a knee and his hands behind his head. 

He’s shed the top half of his armor, revealing his underlying black undersuit across his chest, and it brings Keith back to that first day in the medbay with Lance. With him harboring worries and stresses for Keith, but simultaneously sporting an easy grin and offering considerate remarks. It makes Keith’s heart drop to his bare feet. 

He stands there watching Lance for a minute, before Lance starts singing a song that Keith finds somehow inappropriate and appropriate all at once. 

“ _Don’t be scared to come put your trust in me, all I really want to be is your boyfriend. Can’t fight that, let down you know I’m coming right back. I don’t care at all what you done before. All I really want-”_

“Isn’t that song from Nickelodeon?” Keith interrupts the chorus, as it finally hits him where the song is from, and his voice causes Lance to shoot up so fast that the paladin bangs his head against the bark of the tree behind him. 

“Ouch!” he cries while rubbing the back of his head, and simultaneously sizing up Keith as he approaches. 

“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.”

“I wasn’t _scared,_ it’s just that I was…surprised. And it’s not just a song from _Nickelodeon,_ it’s the song that put BTR in history books as the most iconic boy band to exist.” 

Keith thinks to argue that Fall Out Boy or NSync are better as he takes a seat beside Lance, a group of innocent flowers softly crushing under his weight, but thinks better of it. 

“You have a really nice singing voice, maybe you should’ve joined the group,” Keith offers, and takes note of the immediate smile that graces Lance’s face.

“Thanks. I always wanted to be just like James when I grew up, but apparently you can’t grow up to be show characters,” Lance smirks, and Keith has to resist laughing.

“But isn’t James the one who Gustavo hated the most? I think you’re more like Kendall, if anything,” Keith says with authentic thought, and Lance actually laughs. 

“So you _do_ remember _Big Time Rush_.” 

“I may have watched a few episodes in the common rooms at the Garrison,” Keith admits, though he knows it was a huge understatement. It was more like Nickelodeon always played during his lunch hour, and by his second semester during his first year he’d become completely addicted to _Big Time Rush_ , _Victorious_ , and _Zoey 101_. Not that Lance needed to know about his minor cartoon addiction as a freshman. 

“Wait, what?” Lance questions, turning to him. “I thought you didn’t remember the Garrison.”

Keith blushes and begins fiddling with his fingers until admitting, “I’ve slowly been gaining some of my memories back, I guess.”

Lance looks dumbfounded for all of three seconds, eyes blown wide, and scratches at his head. 

“So… does that mean you remember me? At least a little bit?” 

Keith nods sheepishly and Lance full on gawks before punching Keith in the arm squarely. 

“Why didn’t you say anything?!”

“I didn’t think it was all that important!” Keith defends, shoving Lance back. “Besides, it’s still kind of weird for me to think about. I can’t believe we both went to the Garrison.”

Keith blinks as he tries to remember more details of his time as an early teenager, and though he remembers more than he did the last time he thought about it, it still makes very little sense to him. His brain still can’t cough up the events that landed him a spot in an intergalactic war, but what he does recall is a lot more vivid now. He can clearly think of times of Lance yelling at him about things Keith didn’t understand (mostly being because Lance spoke in fiery Spanglish on ambiguous topics), or Lance terrorizing him in any way he could at any open opportunity. The only thing Lance _didn’t_ do was try to fight Keith, though that may have just been because of the way Keith unapologetically handed James Griffin an unforgiving ass beating on more than one occasion, and Lance knew better than to tempt his chances of being on the receiving end of that. 

All in all, Keith was unaware of Lance’s motives during these trying years, and he couldn’t figure out the maze of his relationship with Lance that got him from being his sorta-kind-definitely-maybe enemy to being his sorta-kind-definitely-maybe boyfriend. 

“Gee, okay. I know I’m more brawn than brains but I’m not a _complete_ idiot. The entrance exam wasn’t even that hard, and I studied so you don’t have to-”

“What, no! That is _not_ what I meant,” Keith interrupts in an attempt to amend his original statements. “It’s just, that was such a weird point in my life. I felt like I belonged and didn’t at the same time, so I… I don’t know, it’s crazy to think you were a part of that and I hadn’t even noticed you. I felt lost, but pretty grateful to have Adam and Shiro because they felt like the only people there who’d ever really care about me. Apparently I was pretty far off with that one.”

Keith meets Lance’s eyes at this, where they’re waning and widening under the night sky and shade of the tree above them, and he immediately begins to flush at the expression on Lance’s face. He doesn’t doubt he’s seen it before, but it’s so full of _something_ that he grows shy at the words he’s just said. It’s funny in a not-so-laughable way how even though he knows a part of him, or maybe even all of him, belongs to Lance. And yet he still tries to hold back any thoughts of admissions that may give way to Lance knowing just to what degree he adores the red paladin. 

So instead of giving Lance a proper chance to reply, he hastily says, “Speaking of far off, why are you all the way out here away from your party?” 

Lance averts his eyes at this and goes back to lying on his back.

“I needed a break I guess. I was getting a little… overwhelmed.”

“Really?” Keith questions. “I thought you would’ve been having fun. Supposedly you have a very big ego and enjoy being the center of attention- Pidge’s words, not mine.”

Lance laughs, peeking one eye open to inspect Keith in the modest moonlight.

“I do. I mean, I am. I-I _am_ having fun. But I have a lot on my mind, too.”

Keith makes a space for himself beside Lance, and mirrors his position with a leg up and balanced on a knee and his hands behind his head. 

“Like what?” Keith quietly questions, to match his soft and understanding thoughts; to let Lance know he isn’t trying to push or pry, and that he only wishes to listen if he’ll be allowed to do such a thing. 

Lance seems to get the message, because he exhales loudly before speaking. 

“Okay… well, I’m assuming you know I didn’t _want_ a birthday party this year,” he says, and Keith nods. “And it’s not that I’m not extremely grateful for you all doing this for me, because I am. And I _am_ enjoying myself. But… it feels wrong.”

“Why?” Keith asks, and watches as Lance gives him a short shrug. 

“I don’t know, because I just got shot with some weird arrow two days ago and everybody was freaking out? Because we’re in the middle of a huge space war and people are dying everyday? Because...because you’re not here?” Lance seems to bite his tongue at this last sentence, but repeats it all the same. “Because you’re not here.”

Keith tries not to get worked up, but he can feel the immense amount of emotions and pain flooding his brain at these words so he simply stays silent out of fear of ruining Lance’s mood even further like a deer caught off guard. And so he lets Lance continue. 

“I know that’s really selfish of me to say, but that’s how I feel. I’m not mad about you guys trying to surprise me. I’m really happy about that, actually. I promise. I just don’t feel deserving of any of this when there’s other things we should be worried about. And your current condition doesn’t exactly help.” 

Okay, Keith _tried_ not to say anything but that just takes the cake. So he abruptly sits up and folds his arms. “Just this morning you said I’m still me. Now I’m not good enough?”

“You- it’s not a matter of you being _good enough_ . You’re always more than enough, that’s a given,” Lance grabs his hands and holds them tightly, just as tightly as Keith grits his teeth and sits tautly. “I like you no matter how well you remember me or what you’re like. But I can’t get over the fact that I can’t figure out if _this_ is okay. And the only person who can tell me that is you- _with_ your memories.” 

Keith scrunches his face in confusion, and looks at their interlocked hands even more perplexed than he’d been before. 

“You’ve lost me.” 

“Okay, look: the past few days with you have been nice. Peachy keen, great, awesome, super fantastic-”

“ _Lance_.”

“Right, okay. My point is, after you get your memories back I don’t know if things are going to _stay_ super fantastic. Like, yes, you are… still you. But I just feel weird without the reassurance that this isn’t circumstantial. That you don’t mind talking to me in swim trunks and throwing me birthday parties when you know our entire story and you remember every part of me and not just some of me.”

Keith takes in these words the best he can, and eventually gives his award-winning eyebrow furrow. He’s a bit confused still, but he thinks he understands what Lance is getting at and hears the forlorning dialogue for what it is. 

“Okay,” Keith whispers, and Lance tightens his grip on his hands again.“Okay. I’m sorry I can’t remember you but-”

“No, no, no, don’t be sorry,” the former blue paladin begs, his long eyelashes batting quickly. “I’m not telling you this to make you feel bad, I’m telling you because… ‘cause you’ve been honest with me and you deserve to know why I’m being all weird. But it’s not your fault, I’m just being needy and selfish as always.”

Lance rolls his eyes at himself, and Keith turns Lance’s hands over to examine his palms. He can’t read life or love lines, but he can read calluses and scars for what they are just fine.

“I get it, you’re not being selfish. You’re always giving, it’s okay to have something for yourself and have feelings,” Keith explains, rubbing a thumb over a cut in the middle of Lance’s left hand. “That’s why we wanted you to throw this party in the first place. So you’d know that we notice how much you give, and because you deserve a break. We know the whole war thing is there, but at the end of the day you’re still human. You’re allowed to have birthday parties and to want reassurance. Nobody can blame you for that.”

Keith doesn’t know when or how his heart mellowed out to have so much patience for Lance, because just a moment ago he’d felt like storming off and now he was sounding like Shiro with his unwarranted wisdom. But it seems to do well on his part, because in a flash Lance is wrapping his arms around his neck and burying him in a hug. 

“Thank you,” Lance sighs into his shoulder. 

“Yeah, whatever,” Keith answers with a smile, and Lance pulls back to hold him at arm’s length with a meaningful look of determination in his eye. 

“I’m serious. I’ve been feeling like shit the past few days because every time you’d talk to me, or every time I’d touch you and you didn’t pull away, I’d be like, would Keith normally act like this or is it because he doesn’t remember how big of an idiotic doofus I am?” 

“You’re not an idiot,” Keith says on instinct. “Doofus, maybe. But definitely not an idiot.” 

Lance pushes him in the arm and tries to force a look of hurt, though Keith knows he’s trying to hold back a smile. “Okay, well, doofus or not, I don’t want to push your buttons. I guess I’ve just been worried that things are outside of the ordinary with us.” 

Keith watches as Lance pins up his knees and starts to bury his face, while Keith clicks his tongue at this revelation. It’s way more familiar than he can find comfort in, but the irony of it all makes him laugh. 

“I’ve been worrying about the exact same thing. I was worried you were being nice to me just as a reaction of current circumstances and my ‘condition.’” Keith enunciates his words with finger quotes and a slightly bored eye roll. “And this whole time you were worrying about the same thing?”

Lance raises his head to meet Keith’s eye in the dark of the night, and offers a slight smile. “I guess we’re both doofuses.”

The laughter that pours from the both of them feels light and easy, and when things fall quiet Keith doesn’t second guess himself or whether or not he might’ve done something wrong. He’s happy to be with Lance, even in silence on a bed of flowers on a foreign planet, and feels a sensation of inner peace even as Lance goes to lay down in the plot of plants and sighs. 

“By the way…,” Keith says when Lance has closed his eyes and the two of them have been quiet for several beats. “It took me until recently to realize this, but it doesn’t matter what I’d normally do whether or not I remember _all_ of you. Because either way, when I get my memories back I’ll still like you in the same way.” 

Lance hums before reaching out to push back Keith’s thick fringe. “And what way is that?” 

Keith’s mouth goes dry as he thinks of all the possible answers he could offer. How can he explain that he loves every ounce of the man in front of him without handing the entirety of his heart on a silver platter, garnished with “oops I didn’t mean to fall for you in _three days?_ ” It’s embarrassing, he decides, so he coughs and decides to play it safe. 

“The same way you like me.” Lance seems to falter, and Keith thinks maybe he’s messed up. Maybe those weren’t the right words at all, but then he comes to the conclusion there aren’t any words to describe how he feels about Lance to begin with. So instead of killing himself over what he can’t say, he goes, “Anyway, why don’t you tell me something I don’t know about you? Or, I guess, something I’ve probably forgotten.”

Lance remains quiet, and Keith considers for a second that he’s gone to sleep with his eyes open. But then Lance shifts a bit and pulls at his ear. 

“I have a twin; Raquel. She’s… it’s her birthday today, too, I guess,” his words are slow and easy but congested, like smooth jazz coming from a club all the way down the street. “It’s always weird having birthdays without her. I celebrated with her for seventeen years in a row and now I just can’t.” 

Lance rolls over to let his face in Keith’s lap, and Keith thinks of words to say that might be reassuring but they don’t quite reach. “What’s she like?” is all he can muster. 

And he feels guilty about that at first. Guilty knowing he can’t properly comfort, but thinks better of it as he feels Lance’s mouth shift into something less bitter. 

“A lot like me, I think. We’re the youngest out of all my siblings so I guess we’re kind of spoiled, which made us pretty whiny and annoying at times. But, like, usually she was the only one who could get me sometimes. Like she gets the superiority in using Peach in Smash Bros or not wanting your toast to touch your oatmeal. But also more important stuff like teachers treating you differently because of the legacy your older siblings left at your school and knowing exactly what you want to be when you grow up but being scared you’re not good enough to get there.”

Lance fiddles with a flower on the necklace the Junnigee made him in celebration of his aging, and Keith makes a mental note to eventually ask Lance about _all_ of his siblings. 

But first he questions what Lance wanted to be when he got older, and Lance explains his dreams of becoming an astronaut but feeling as if he wasn’t smart enough. And how having such a strong admiration for his idols (Takashi Shirogane being one, which causes Keith to silently raise an eyebrow) made Lance hold himself to a high standard he struggled to meet in the middle. 

“I guess that’s why you got on my nerves so much,” Lance admits as Keith mindlessly runs a hand through his hair. “I tried my hardest at everything and just barely got by, by the skin of my teeth, and then there’s you who was Mr. Perfect so effortlessly. Not to mention you were Shiro’s favorite, which only served to rub salt to the wound. I get why _now_ , but it was hard to understand as a kid.”

Keith lets his hand rest in Lance’s hair upon hearing this, and twists his face into a frown. “I was never perfect, and nothing at the Garrison was effortless. I was always being compared to Shiro, especially by Iverson.” 

He rolls his eyes at the thought of the commanding officer and his constant ridicule in an attempt to belittle Keith and reduce him to a wanna-be (never-gonna-be) Shirogane lite. The truth was Keith had never been seeking anyone’s approval, which made the criticisms all the more annoying. The only reason he’d even started trying at the Garrison was to prove Iverson wrong. 

“Are you serious? Iverson always said I’d never been as good as _you_!” Lance complained, and they both shared a begrudging sigh at the appalling behavior of their former officer. 

Keith can’t be sure how much longer he stayed with Lance, both of them sharing thoughts and memories and feelings, but he thinks maybe he would’ve stayed with Lance like that forever if Pidge hadn’t eventually found them.

“Oh my God, there you two are!” she shouted while approaching, and they turned to her mid-conversation before sharing equally unsure looks. “Everyone’s been looking all over for you! Lance, it’s almost time for your moon baptism thingy.”

“My _what_?” 

“They do this moon christening ritual on people’s birthdays,” Keith attempts to explain while standing, and Pidge nods. Lance offers an incredulous look before sighing, then stands. 

“You guys are lucky I’m Catholic,” he breathes, leading the way back to the main beach. 

“So I’m guessing your talk went well,” Pidge whispers to Keith during their walk. “ _Very_ well?”

“What makes you say that?” Keith asks, deciding he would rather not give any incriminating details with Lance only four feet away. 

“Well, you’re half-naked for one,” Pidge chuckles, and Keith shoves her in the arm with a laugh. 

Before Lance can question the cause for their giggling, Allura is approaching and taking him by the arm. 

“Oh, lovely, Pidge found you! We were worried we were going to have to do the ritual without you!” she says excitedly, and goes to take Keith by the hand as well. “Coran volunteered to do it in your absence and he chose _me_ as his partner.” 

“Partner?” Lance and Keith questioned in unison, and Allura nodded sagely as she led them further along the path back to the beach. 

“Yes! The person who has aged must choose a partner who has helped them grow spiritually within the past several moon cycles. I’m assuming you’d choose Keith, yes, Lance?” Allura explains.

“I-well, I mean…,” Lance blinks several times, stammering, and Keith watches unsure of what to say either. But he finds himself even _more_ speechless when Lance asks, “I don’t know, do you wanna be my moon partner, Keith?” 

Keith tries to think of words to say that would make the moment a little less awkward. Except all he says is “yeah” and then Allura is back to guiding them away and the moment’s passed. 

The following events don’t exactly help the uneasy feeling that’s settling in his chest either. A set of Junnigee servants help guide them through one of the castle’s back doors and dress them in garments reminiscent of the Junnigee’s more traditional choice of wear, complimented with freshly woven flowers around their necks. 

“I feel ridiculous,” Keith mutters as a Junnigee places a pair of itchy anklets around his legs. 

“Really? I think you look kinda cute,” Lance laughs, and Keith offers him a middle finger in an attempt to distract from the blood rushing to his face. 

If the outfits weren’t nerve-inducing enough, the large crowd and path made specifically for them certainly is. 

Upon exiting the castle, guided by the same servants that dressed them, the pair are met with a path of pink sand alit by fiery torches on either side, and an excited crowd watching their every step as they’re guided to the beach. 

“Why do I feel like an extra on _Lilo & Stitch _?” Keith mumbles in Lance’s direction just as loud drums erupt, the beat moving in time with their steps. 

“Yeah? I’m feeling like a main character,” Lance answers in his ear, and it makes Keith shiver with something cold other than the breeze of the night. 

When they finally reach the beach’s dock, the king and queen are there with a small bowl of something white and shimmering. They each dip a finger in the bowl, after saying a loud chant that causes the crowd to whistle loudly in response, and the two of them eye each other nervously. But then the queen marks a symbol across Lance’s left cheek, and Keith’s right, and they’re guided to the boat that Keith had worked on only a day ago. 

“The luchei’s muna will guide you back to shore, but you must have trust,” they’re told by the king as their boat is untethered, and then they’re sent on their way into the depths of the pink sea. 

  
  


\- - 

  
  


“Is it me, or should this boat have paddles? You know, in case of an emergency?” Keith hears Lance say after several minutes have passed inside the boat, with both of them well past the tide and somewhere off at sea. Keith can still make out the torches and other signs of the Junigenia island’s beach, but this doesn’t really help his anxiousness, and neither do Lance’s words. 

“That would’ve been a good idea, huh? But apparently we have to ‘trust the muna,’” Keith says, doing his best impression of the king’s odd voice, and it’s enough to make Lance laugh a bit. 

The water against their small boat sloshes as Lance settles more comfortably and his long legs stretch to meet Keith by the knees, and Keith can’t help but swallow the sight greedily with eyes filled with idolatry. 

There’s a steady silence between them, and he relishes in how it doesn’t feel uncomfortable or agitating. It’s simple and comfortable, and he thinks of how _every_ moment with Lance is easy. 

“So, what exactly is the muna, do you think?” Lance asks at some point, when his eyes have wandered far off to one of Junnigee’s moons and his legs have snaked around one of Keith’s ankles. 

“Um, well apparently the luchei is a moon spirit fish thing so I guess its muna is like… its telepathy or something?” Keith tries, and Lance meets his eyes with a smile. 

“Telepathic fish? Sounds cool, can’t wait to see it,” Lance chuckles. 

Keith pushes himself to meet Lance in the middle of their small boat, and Lance arches an eyebrow at the movement. 

“You know, I kinda hate fish. They stink, don’t ya think?”

“Oh my God, yes,” Lance rolls his eyes and Keith laughs. “Seriously, my parents both worked at a resort in Varadero, but when business was kind of calmer during the off seasons my dad used to pack and sell fish and it was _awful._ He’d bring so much home that Mami couldn’t keep up, and she’d have huge fish fries for everyone in the neighborhood. Which was fine and all, except people would bring their _own_ fish sometimes, and then the whole house would smell like the set of _Finding Nemo_ for days.”

Keith can’t help but chuckle at this, and he takes note of how Lance smiles in response with a face that causes his face to fold and his nose to scrunch.

“That’s the real reason I didn’t want to eat that sandwich you gave me,” Lance admits. “I think I’m scarred for life. Which sucks ‘cause there’s lots of fish back home.” 

“What’s Cuba like?” Keith prompts, and if Lance wasn’t grinning before he definitely is now. Keith thinks of how everyone has something that gets them excited- for himself it’s conspiracy theories, for Shiro it’s Adam, and for Lance apparently it’s home. 

“Oh, it’s awesome. Like I said, my parents both worked at this huge resort by the beach, which was great. My dad was a tourist and sometimes would let me and my siblings join his trips as his quote on quote assistants, which was definitely against some sort of rule but nobody ever noticed us much. And my mom was a pediatrician at the residential medic center, and she’d give us free ice pops and suckers that were meant for the sick kids,” Lance says in an excited rush, while the Kogane in front of him hangs onto every word. “Oh, and my parents got free seasons passes like it was Disney World or something and we got to go to the country club for free. Technically they only got four passes, but Rachel could pass as my sister Veronica and I could pass as my brother Luis so they didn’t realize how many of us there really were. We just couldn’t be together in front of any staff and had to wear the same bathing suits but it was totally worth it for the pineapple smoothies and pastelitos de guayaba. Oh my gosh, and the cazuela de plátano _slaps._ But then again plantains taste good with everything, I used to just eat fried plantains from a bag sometimes. I can’t wait for you to try some when we go back to Earth.”

Keith blinks in surprise when Lance says this, and offers a trepid grin. Lance says this so sure- as though he’s got things all figured out for the both of them, and there’s no doubt in his mind about them going back to Earth. Seemingly together. 

“I didn’t realize I was invited to go with you to Cuba,” Keith speaks, a bit unsure of if this is what Lance was actually insinuating. But Lance actually comes across half-offended and even more so incredulous at Keith’s claim. 

“What? Why wouldn’t you be, my family would _obviously_ love you. Hell, I’m sure my mom might try to adopt you,” Lance exclaims. “And you’d definitely love my family’s farm, cowboy. I’ve been meaning to visit my tía and tío for a while, and I’m sure it’s pretty lonely out there with my cousins all grown up. I can bring the whole crew out there and it’ll be just like when I was a kid, singing campfire songs and drinking cocoa.” 

Keith eyes Lance for a minute, and the latter stares back with wide eyes that are bleed all black with just the smallest sliver of brown. 

“You had a nice childhood,” Keith whispers, thinking aloud. This causes Lance to avert his eyes, and laughs nervously. 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to brag or anything I just… I really love my family.”

“I know. I’m not complaining. I like that about you,” Keith answers, and feels the oddly cold sensation of Lance’s foot moving against his skin as Lance readjusts his position. 

“I know you didn’t have the best time growing up, but do you have any stories?” Lance tries. Keith leans back, trying to think of the better half of his early years, and when he doesn’t answer quickly Lance prompts, “What about your first sleepover? You mentioned that you had one before, right? When was that?” 

Not for the first time that day, the former black paladin thinks of Andre and the kindness had offered him, and he smiles. 

“Oh, that,” he sighs. “Well, one time in fourth grade this kid- Andre- invited me to his pool party and honestly it was pretty fun. I’d never been invited to a party before and some of the kids were kinda mean, but Andre was nice. But my dad got caught up at work and I ended up spending the night at his house.”

Lance frowns with a cock of his head. “That’s sad. Why is everything about your childhood so depressing?” 

Keith shakes his head before laughing, and does his best to add to the narrative if only to help lessen the load on Lance’s heart. 

“It wasn’t sad at all, I promise,” he attempts. “His parents made us drinks and we watched a movie, and I got to play with his birthday toys. Which was really fun ‘cause I never really got to play with toys but-”

“Stop, stop!” Lance interrupts, slapping a hand over Keith’s mouth. “You never had _toys_? What kind of kid doesn’t have toys? Not even one?”

“My dad couldn’t afford it,” Keith shrugs, mostly desensitized to the information. “I had this one stuffed hippo my mom left me, but I made the mistake of taking it with me to kindergarten and some kid cut its head off during arts and craft.”

By the end of his tale, Lance has this horrified look on his face that actually makes Keith laugh. 

“When all this is over and we’re rich from saving the world,” Lance states while grabbing the sides of Keith’s face with both hands. “I will buy you a hippo. _And_ a Toys ‘R Us.” 

At this they both laugh heartily, though Keith knows Lance is at least thirty-percent serious, and he pretends not to notice the way Lance swipes a thumb over his cheek once or twice.

Once they’ve been settled, with Lance looking at him with some odd intent, and Keith’s stomach has settled with that loud _something something something_ , Lance’s eyebrows furrow. 

“Um, Keith?” Lance asks. 

“Yeah?” 

“Are your ankles sweating?” Keith blanches, disbelieving to Lance’s question and looks down only to gasp at what he sees. “It’s okay, when I’m rich I can also buy you ankle deodorant. Though I’m not sure if that exists, so I guess I’ll have to buy a dermatologist first. How much do you think-”

“What? Lance, no, look!” Keith shifts in his seat to sit up as much as he can without tipping the boat, though it seems to be a bit of a lost cause. 

He hadn’t even noticed his feet getting wet because he’d been a little too warped into his ongoing conversation, but their small boat was cracking under their weight and steadily filling with water. 

“Holy quiznack, is the boat _sinking_?” Lance questions, sitting up as well, but his sudden movements only makes the boat crack further. “This is why we need paddles!” 

“I guess I ate one too many horahora sandwiches,” Keith curses aloud, and shakes his head. “Maybe we can swim back?”

“Which way is _that_? We’ve been aimlessly drifting at sea for, like, an hour.”

“Shit,” Keith mumbles. “Okay, what do you propose we do then?”

Lance thinks for a second before eventually frowning. “Keith, it was nice knowing you.”

The two hear a loud crack in the underside of the small boat that causes a fresh wave of water to rip through their already flooding vessel, and Keith curses while Lance makes incoherent noises that blend too fast together for Keith to decide whether or not it’s Spanish. 

“Okay, we’re just going to pick a random direction and swim hoping for the best,” Keith decides as water begins to reach well past their ankles and the boat continues to creak and crack, and Lance nods.

Lance decides on eenie-meenie-miney-mo to come up with a direction, and before long the two have abandoned ship to swim north. 

“This has taken a really weird turn I was _so_ not expecting,” Lance complains after not even thirty seconds of swimming through the cold waters, and Keith rolls his eyes. “I just hope Rachel’s having a good birthday.”

Lance goes mellow in his tone after this, and Keith pauses in his strokes for a second. 

“I’m sure she is. But I bet she’s thinking the same for you,” Keith tries, and Lance stops as well, his face flushed and wet.

“I’m pretty sure she thinks I’m dead,” he huffs, swiping wet bangs from his face but only serving to wet his face even further. 

“Sorry…,”

Lance bites his lip as Keith struggles to keep himself afloat and turns to their sinking boat.

“No, I’m sorry. That was dumb to say, you’re just trying to help and I-,” Lance cuts himself, and brings a wet hand to poke Keith in the cheek. “Has your face been glowing this whole time?” 

Keith turns to Lance quickly upon hearing this, thinking it’s no time to talk about skin quality, when he realizes that Lance likely means a literal glow. Because Lance’s face is glowing as well by the white paint the Junnigee royals had painted across his contrastingly dark skin, and it burns a brightly iridescent white on his cheek that mirrors the moonlight. 

Before Keith can think of what to say to this, he feels something push past his legs and lift him from the water, and then he’s shooting through the water. 

It takes several seconds for him to catch his breath, but when he does he grapples onto whatever it is that he’s riding through the water and he forces his eyes to look down at a large animal with markings similar to the ones on Lance’s face. 

“What the hell?!” Lance half screams and half laughs from behind him, and Keith sighs in knowing that Lance is apparently riding the strange animal as well behind him and he _hasn’t_ gone crazy. 

Upon closer inspection he finds that he’s on the back of a creature quickly wading through the waters, and when he makes out its face aglow by its scale’s imprintings, he believes it to be something similar to an oversized koi fish that’s black and white in color. 

“I think… it’s the luchei,” Keith breathes when the fish has slowed down just a bit, and feels the movement of Lance behind him. 

“Oh my goodness. Thank you, muna!” Lance screams, delirious, and the fish must take this as a sign to heighten the extremity of their ride. Because it quickly bolts forward and dives underwater, barely giving Keith a chance to hold his breath. 

Lance surges forward and grabs Keith by the waist, causing Keith to instinctively slit an eye open just slightly in an attempt to peek behind him. But what he sees instead has to be something he doesn’t think he’ll ever forget. 

Through his baited pupil, he spies a profusion of pools of fish and other strange creatures that ranged in colors that Keith couldn’t even recognize. And even past that there was the usual Junigenian blue sand and plants that were thick and thin and light and flailing around in the water. And when the luchei fish began to shoot by at unnatural speeds, everything seemed to glisten and sparkle by. 

When the luchei eventually allowed them to hit the surface again, taking in large breaths, the two of them laughed and Keith dared to steal a look at Lance’s face as it glowed in more ways than one. 

Keith wishes the ride could’ve been longer, with Lance hugging his middle and excitedly laughing or whooping as the fish warped through the ocean quickly, occasionally taking a nosedive through the cherry ocean. 

But it didn’t take long for them to reach the shore off the far end of the beach, and the luchei all but launched them off its large back and into the blue sand. They seemed to both pause for an second, in some sense of disbelief, but it didn’t take long for Lance to delve into a fit of giggles. 

“Bye, Lulu!” Lance called as the fish began to splash its way back into the depths of the ocean, and Keith could swear he heard the moon spirit whistle in response. 

“You _named_ a spirit?” he laughs, into Lance’s shoulder from where they lie on the beach, and Lance laughs louder. 

“It’s not just a _spirit_. I’d like to think we’re best buds now,” he answers, sitting up a little, and pushes back his wet bangs for a second time in the past hour. “I’m definitely marking that as the best water ride ever, by the way.”

“Ditto,” Keith agrees quietly, and traces the painting on Lance’s cheek with his eyes, noticing how it was still aglow but its brightness doesn’t even compare to the gleam in Lance’s eyes. 

“Thank you for going with me to my fish baptism,” Lance says with a small voice, and rests his chin on Keith’s head instead of making a move to get up from the sand. And though he’d drenched and a bit cold, Keith can’t say he minds. So he simply hums a quiet “you’re welcome” with a smile he can’t shake. 

“Do you think we’ll catch pneumonia if we don’t get up soon?” Lance questions, fondling with one of Keith’s soaked locks of hair. 

“It’d be worth it,” Keith sighs into Lance’s chest, and thinks of sleeping like this. His face pressed against Lance, listening to the man’s wildly beating heart that thrums wilder than a Junnigee drum. 

“You’re killing me,” Lance laughs as Keith further buries his face.

He doesn’t want to move, and he hopes Lance doesn’t want to either, but there’s another factor he doesn’t consider- their friends.

“Guys, I’m pretty sure sex on the beach is _just_ supposed to be a drink and not taken literally,” Keith hears a familiar voice call from a few feet away, and it’s enough for Lance to sit up immediately.

“That is _not_ what we were doing!” Lance defends in Matt’s direction, standing with much needed effort, and Keith stifles a chuckle. “I’m an upstanding paladin and, may I remind you, a role model for many young aliens of the universe!” 

“Are you trying to convince yourself or us?” Keith hears Hunk ask, causing him to fully stand and swipe off the extra as and sticking to his skin and hair. 

“Hunk! Our boat _sank_ and this is the response I get on my birthday?” Lance cries, his voice going pitchy, and Keith rolls his eyes as more members of Team Voltron approach.

“You two have quite the habit of going missing, don’t you? You were gone for quite some time, the Junnigee said the ritual usually doesn’t extend to such a long period,” Allura says after joining them by the shore and inspecting the two of them. 

“Sorry, Allura, things got kinda crazy when our boat started to break,” Keith apologizes, which causes the group to launch into a loud conversation about what had occurred and the strange sight everyone had seen of the luchei fish’s light glowing brightly and crashing into the far end of the beach, only to disappear. 

There was a great pandemonium as Keith and Lance recounted what happened on their way back to the dock, with lots of interruptions from their crew as their friends questioned the adventure, and even more chaos after the Junnigee welcomed them back and the king and queen apologized for the faulty boat. 

“We are terribly sorry, the luchei is supposed to push your boat back, but we suppose we did not take into account the larger size of your species,” the king had frowned, ears flapping and gills flaring as he looked up at Keith and Lance with regretful eyes. 

They insisted they held no resentment, but the king and queen implored they accepted a gift of bravery- matching necklaces made of blue glass the color of the beach’s sand, mirroring the texture of pearls and holding small pressed and dried jahnia inside. 

It’s not until Keith and Lance have been provided with their original clothes and are able to dry off and change that Keith can finally take a breather. 

In one of the castle’s rooms, Keith observes the less obvious details of the necklace he’d been given after he’s back in his Mamorite suit, while Lance sings a familiar tune under his breath from a few feet away. 

“You know, I’ve always wanted a pet shark, but I’m starting to think luchei are way cooler,” Lance says in between verses while pulling on his black undersuit after he’s dried, and Keith does his best not to eye any exposed skin. 

“How would Lancito jr. feel about that?” Keith questions and begins pulling on one of his boots, only to hear a mock-scandalized gasp from Lance. 

“Do _not_ bring my son into this. He’s already had a very hard week in between Pidge using him for one of her weapon experiments and him having to go through surgery,” Lance answers, and Keith shakes his head. 

“You’re really something else, you know that?” 

“Oh, please,” Lance says, and Keith tries his best not to react to the sound of Lance coming up to stand behind him. “You know you _looove_ me, you want to _maaarry_ me.” 

Keith intends to think of something witty as a response, or at least give one of his signature eye rolls. But all he can manage is to look over his shoulder to Lance, with some subdued look that’s so not him at all. But that’s just the effect Lance has on him, he supposes. The red paladin has an estranged talent for making Keith amiable and collected in the places that are to be least expected, and he can’t say he’s exactly complaining.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” he answers under his breath, and that’s probably the best response he could give. Because it actually makes Lance sputter and gasp while Keith is putting on his last boot and tie his hair up in one the flower bands that he thinks perfectly doubles as a hair tie, and he’s exiting the room while Lance is trying to hurriedly clamor on the remainders of his gear and simultaneously gather himself. 

“Hey, wait up!” the past blue paladin calls, and Keith smiles to himself because something about his life right then feels unfairly lucky. 

  
  


\- -

  
  


“I’m not usually one for aesthetics,” Pidge says after Keith has renentered the ballroom, dry and smelling of Junigenian ocean waters, and has joined Pidge near the edge of the dance floor, the two of them taking in the room as the remainder of their friends make a fool of themselves on the dance floor. “But this has to be the prettiest thing I’ve seen in a while.”

Keith looks around the room and can’t help but agree. Where it had earlier been brightly lit, it was now cast in partial darkness of the night with torches and candles and their fire to offer light. But the main source of lighting was actually the flowers lined up against the walls and hanging from glistening light fixtures. It reminded Keith of glow-in-the dark roller rinks on steroids, with the colors exponentially brighter and with some sort of natural glint. Not only did the glowing flowers hang from the wall and ceilings, but they were also draped and tied around several necks, or woven into hair and clothing. It made for an interesting sight as natives swept across the dance floor. 

Most impressively, however, was the large ball of flowers that had been tied together and fit into a net that hung high from the ceiling, making out to be some sort of large floral disco ball in the center of the space. 

Keith was staring at this when Lance inevitable entered the scene, and rests a chin that’s slightly damp and definitely way too sharp over his former leader’s shoulders. 

“Ready to wipe the floor with everybody here with our sick moves, Samurai Jack?” he practically sings, and Keith has to resist shooting Pidge a dirty look at the way she snorts. 

“As much as I appreciate the sentiment and the insinuations of that wonderful nickname,” Keith answers. “I’m going to have to pass.”

“What?” Lance cries, showing genuine disarray and offense. “But it’s my birthday!”

“Yeah, Keith, it’s his birthday,” the youngest Holt instigates, and this time Keith _does_ shoot her a dirty look.

“I don’t dance, especially not in front of crowds.”

“Psht, it’s a bit too late to be shy, don’t ya think? You just walked in front of everyone here in some big flower dress and anklets-”

“Which I totally caught on camera, in case you were wondering,” Pidge intercepts. 

“Yeah, which Pidge totally caught on camera, and will likely upload to some alien YouTube later so you’re gonna be embarrassed anyway. At the very least enjoy yourself,” Lance contends. “Besides, all our friends are dancing and look like total idiots. You _can’t_ tell me you don’t want to show them how it’s done. The Junnigee need to know some of us humans have moves!” 

“The Junnigee are counting on you, Keith,” Pidge says, doing her best to feign a look of solemness despite the smirk forming at the corners of her mouth. 

Keith takes a gander at the majority of the team on the spread across the floor, with Shiro doing the sprinkler and Matt doing a horrible job of breakdancing, while Hunk and Allura make an awful attempt at the tango. Which would be fine, considering it’s mostly Hunk trying to teach the princess how to dance, except that it’s _T-Pain_ that’s playing over their exotic movements. Keith doesn’t even wanna _know_ what Coran is probably doing, so he turns back to Lance and sighs. 

“Fine, but only because I don’t want the aliens to be tainted with whatever the hell Matt is doing,” Keith sighs, and it doesn’t take long for Lance to lead him to the middle of the dance floor excitedly while Pidge promises to DJ for them.

Lance catches him by the hands, ready to properly bounce and ride the rhythm of the song, when the chorus abruptly stops and the two hear a slower melody cut through the crowd. Immediately they look to the DJ booth where Pidge sits, and offers them a thumbs up as a slower song begins to play. 

“I think somebody’s trying to set me up,” Keith murmurs with a shake of his head in disdain, but will later thank Pidge because of the way Lance seamlessly throws his hands around Keith’s waist and places his head atop Keith’s. The only thing that can be done is for Keith to wraps his arm’s Lance’s neck, though he wonders how it’s fair that Lance gets to lead, until it comes to him that Lance is actually the better dancer. 

It’s easy and quiet between them for a moment, and Keith doesn’t dare think to look up or seek eye contact because he’s worried he might say the wrong thing. But Lance beats him to the punch. 

“You smell like this bath bomb I had back at home,” Lance says into Keith’s hair halfway through the song’s second verse, and Keith laughs nervously.

“Thank you?” 

“That’s not a compliment, I hated that thing. It left a permanent ring around my tub,” Lance says, and then snorts at himself. “Sorry, that’s-I’m… nervous. Is that weird? I dance with you all the time, this shouldn’t be weird and yet I’ve got goosebumps. Although that could be because I’m still kind of cold even though my hands are kinda sweaty.” 

Keith chuckles into Lance’s chest so hard he thinks he might burst, and Lance tugs on his ear. 

“Don’t laugh at me, Kogane.” 

“Sorry, sorry. You’re just… I don’t know, only you’d bring up bath bombs with Whitney Houston playing,” Keith admits, and then meets Lance’s eye somewhere halfway. “What do you mean we dance all the time, though?” 

Keith liked to do lots of things, because he wasn’t exactly picky when it came to the details of the activities he went through in a day. But he couldn’t ever imagine dancing being a normality for him, let alone dancing with Lance. Hell, if it wasn’t for it being Lance’s birthday, he wouldn’t have even agreed to dance with him right then. 

“Well, we attend balls all the time ya know. Or we did, when we were paladins. People _love_ celebrating us, ‘cause we’re so cool or whatever. And I love embarrassing you on the dance floor, so I’ve kind of lost count of how many times I told you I was better at dancing at you and you actually took the bait,” Lance says. “Also, this one dancemove I taught Allura? I also taught it to you a while ago and you’re kinda a natural at it, ironically?” 

“Why is it ironic?” 

Lance laughs with his head tilted sideways and shakes his head as Sara Bareilles begins to play. “I’d tell you, but I don’t think you’d believe me,” 

“Fine, then don’t tell me. I’ll remember in a few days anyway,” Keith decides, and they both go quiet as the remainder of the song plays, with them both mindlessly humming along without much volume. 

That is, until the song less than seamlessly blends into a more upbeat song by Paramore and Lance pulls back to examine Keith with a smile. 

“Oh my God, I love this song,” he says, and that’s all the warning Akira Kogane gets before the tone of the room shifts entirely and so does their dancing. 

Keith doesn’t think himself to exactly be the most talented or coordinated person in the world, but he supposes it doesn’t matter under the space’s fluorescent lights and surrounded by equally excited aliens who move with impressive time to the beat. 

So as song blends into song, with Paramore trading off for Shakira, which shifts to Jay Sean and then Aly & AJ, Keith doesn’t let himself go stiff or scared about how outlandish he looks with every shimmy and head shake, because he’s having way too much fun. 

It’s about thirty minutes on the dance floor later, with Lance and Keith’s faces flushed and their hair flying in odd directions while their smiles reach halfway across their face, that they’re singing along and jumping to the bass boosted opening verses of ‘Super Bass’ by Nicki Minaj and the net of flowers in the middle of the floor falls over them. 

Keith nearly goes into a panic when he sees the net open, but watches in awe as a wave of glowing plants cascades to the floor around them, and the couple are bathed in the natural light. 

Lance giggles before picking a flower from Keith’s hair and placing it behind his ear, with the music loud as ever above them, and eventually they both delve into a series of loud chuckles and chortles. 

And Keith thinks, as Lance grabs Keith by the hands and swings them back and forth before going back to singing, that he’s finally found that feeling of belonging once more. 

\- -

On the way back to the Castle of Lions after Lance’s party, Keith thinks maybe he curses himself a grand total of twenty-three times. And that’s not including the times he swears while the crew struggles to find Coran after the music has stopped playing and Matt takes his leave after being suddenly called to a mission, or while Shiro and Allura try to coax the older man from trying to demonstrate to a small group of Junnigee how to set your body on fire without getting burned. 

It’s really simple, really: Keith comes to a fairly simply revelation after his final dance with Lance of the night and Lance kisses him on the forehead. 

“You still smell like that bath bomb,” Lance says, and Keith is pretty sure his heart shoots to the floor in the same way the luchei fish had dove headfirst into the underbelly of the Junigenian ocean. And then Lance was gone, under the dim lights, and the next time Keith found him, Lance was definitely drunk on anapaja fruit margaritas. 

Now, a bit of time later after the crew had decided to call it quits for the night, Keith was forced to watch Lance do an unstable job of serenading the group with the better half of Ariana Grande’s discography in the short fifteen minute walk to the castle.

“ _We got that good love, we got that hot love, we got that I don’t give a what love, something something all night, make me make baaaaad decisions_ ,” Lance drawls while draping himself over Keith’s shoulder, and Keith is certain he thinks of every swear word he knows because he’s a little less than certain that he’s in love with this man. And somehow he finds the half-drunk singing endearing, and it makes the entire situation all the more worse. 

“Lance,” Shiro eventually cuts in while they all enter the castle’s corridor, after Lance has tried (and failed) to teach Coran some of the choreography to Ariana’s ‘Focus’ music video. “As much as we appreciate you being our jukebox, I think we’re all tired and would appreciate a little peace and quiet.”

Lance frowns, looking at Shiro with looks to be genuine disbelief, before laughing. 

“I hope you guys aren’t trying to go to bed, I haven’t gotten my cake and presents yet,” Lance says with an arched eyebrow, and then actually seems to make half of the sluggish group perk up. 

“Oh, yeah!” Hunks agrees. “Shiro, we can’t go to bed before cake and gifts, I made this awesome upside down cake.”

“And I stayed up all night finishing Lance’s gift,” Pidge adds on. 

“We can continue our festivities in my room!” Allura finishes, and sooner than later they’ve all made a plan to have an afterparty/slumber party in the princess’s quarters. 

Shiro opts out, deciding he would rather receive his slice of dessert in the morning. Meanwhile, somewhere across their conversation Coran has passed out, which leaves the majority of the team to continue their festivities while Shiro helps their residential eccentric uncle to his room. 

“Don’t stay up too late,” is the last thing their leader says, before they all smile at each other knowing fully well their intentions for the night.

It’s after everyone has showered and slipped into a change of clothes that they all find themselves in Allura’s room, bundled up in a web of blankets and pillows while they each hold a gift for Lance and a slice of malofruit cake. 

“I feel so loved,” Lance says before even opening his first gift, and gratefully takes a red bag from Allura. 

From it he pulls a small knife and he looks at it oddly before turning it over in his hand, only for the knife to pop into a proper sword and he breathes a soft “wow” as he inspects it.

“I saw you practicing with swords the other day and I thought… well, it was my father’s and I thought he’d might wish for you to have it. You know, one red paladin to another,” Allura explains, and Lance offers her one of his more reserved soft smiles. 

“God, thank you, Allura,” he says quietly, and turns it over again, and it flips back into a smaller knife. 

Following this, Hunk offers Lance a bag with a gray sweater that Hunk reveals to be hand-knitted using the skills Lance had taught his best friend ages ago, and Lance hugs the sweater tightly to his chest before pulling it over his head and letting it sit comfortably atop his pajama tee. After the jumper, Lance also finds a well-loved box set of the complete collection of _Gossip Girl,_ and Lance squeals excitedly while examining the DVDs and Hunk explains how he’d come across the gem by chance at the space mall. Below these treasures, Hunk has neatly packed a batch of something _close_ to sugar cookies, and Lance immediately hands each of his friends one after offering Hunk a strong hug.

After cookies and cake have been consumed, and Lance has mellowed out now that he’s sober and stuffed with food, Pidge hands Lance a crudely wrapped gift. 

“Oh my gosh,” Lance says a bit breathlessly after he peels back makeshift wrapper to reveal what looks to be a mechanical conch shell. Before Pidge can offer him an explanation or instructions, he’s turned it over to reveal a series of buttons and presses the first one. Immediately, the sound of lapsing waves plays loudly, and Lance all but gasps with glee. 

“It’s just like a real conch shell,” Lance observes, and Allura curiously examines it as well. 

“Yeah, except it plays more than ocean sounds,” she says just as Allura presses a new button, which prompts a recognizable song to play from the shell’s speakers. 

“ _I thought that I was dreaming when you said you love me/ The start of nothing,”_ Frank Ocean’s voice sings, and Lance’s glee somehow manages to extend. 

“Thank you,” he tells Pidge, his voice low after she’s instructed him on how to play the other uploaded sounds and how to turn it on and off. 

“I also finally figured out how to upload iTunes to your handheld. And don’t worry, I’ve already downloaded all the music from your favorites that you’ve missed since we were last on Earth. Ariana has _two_ new albums by the way, just thought you should know,” Pidge tells him while taking a small phone from her pocket, and offering to the red paladin. 

He stares at it in shock and flips it over with surprise. 

“I was wondering where this thing disappeared to, I haven’t been able to find it in forever,” he admits, and Keith finally thinks he understands why Lance must’ve originally stolen his phone. 

Lance quickly discovers the music app on his handheld, and doesn’t hesitate to put a playlist Pidge had made for him on shuffle. But when Beyoncé begins to blare loudly from the small device, they all agree it’d be best if he waited until the morning to check out The Carter’s latest album. Still, Lance flips through the phone for a few seconds more, and his eyebrows furrow aggressively when he comes across an app that wasn’t there before.

“You added Skype?” Lance questions. “Can’t we already video call with one another?” 

“It’s not for talking with us. It’s… so you can chat with your family,” Pidge explains, and Lance looks up with an expression that shifts and wavers between bewilderment and disbelief.

“No-no way. How is that possible?”

“Hunk and Matt helped me connect a transmission server with my dad after he reached Earth,” Pidge says slowly, and Lance goes through about seven different emotions as she says this. “I actually called my mom not long ago. It works, I promise. It’s obviously not perfect, but it’s better than nothing.”

“I was planning on trying to call my family tomorrow,” Hunk adds, the inflection of his voice betraying him as it tremors.”I was thinking we could do it together.”

Lance blanches at this information. He stares at his phone, still as stone and soft as marmalade, and the group all share looks of concern as they await his response.

“Yeah,” Lance eventually chokes with a nod, sniffling a bit. “That sounds good.”

He barely gets the words out, with his voice cracking violently and tears begin to pour from his face. 

“Shit, this is… thank you. This is, like, the nicest gift ever,” Lance manages as tears streak down his face, and forces the group into a hug.

“Keith still hasn’t given his gift yet,” Allura points out after a few seconds, and Keith resists an urge to groan.

“I doubt I could top that,” Keith says as everyone pulls back from Lance and reluctantly gives the red paladin the overstuffed bag he’d gotten from Pidge’s room. 

Truth was, Keith hadn’t even looked in the bag, and so he was just as unsure as everyone to discover what he’d bought. He wished he could remember, because he didn’t think he’d ever forgive himself if he didn’t go all out for Lance. Or somewhat out… Especially considering the thoughtful gifts his friends had gotten the paladin. 

The one thing he _did_ know for sure that was in that bag, however, was a letter he’d written not even an hour ago. 

After a long shower with his thoughts, there had been plenty of things rushing through his head that kept his head booming loudly in his ears and his head throbbing with the knowledge that he was almost-definitely-certainly-more-than-likely in love with the past blue paladin, turned red. And in the spur of the moment, Keith had decided to write these thoughts down at his desk to try to make sense of it all, and perhaps give the whole letter writing thing a second chance. So he put what was on his mind to paper. It was due to a lack of impulse control that this letter was slipped into Lance’s bag just before Keith made it to Allura’s room for cake and presents, but he held no regrets. It seemed only right that Lance would be given Keith’s thoughts, handed over so easily; he had already stolen Keith’s heart, what more was a few printed feelings?

So when Lance peeks into his birthday bag from his former leader, the first thing he takes out is a folded note and he opens it merrily, not knowing the weight of its contents. 

“Aw, a birthday card,” Hunk chuckles, but after a quick glance over some of the paper’s contents, Lance folds it back up and gingerly places it in one of his pockets. 

“I think I’d rather read that in private,” Lance laughs, his ears tinting a deep ruby color.

Instead of reading, he goes out to pull out the first item from the bag- an oversized _Jaws_ tee that Lance inspects with wide eyes. 

“Oh my gosh,” he laughs, and throws it over his already extensive layer of clothing. 

Deeper in the bag there’s a large quilt that Lance fawns over made of patches of what looks to be Voltron memorabilia- cut out advertisements of thick cloth banners and shirts or something of the other, most of which hold the residential red paladin on grand display. 

“This is so cool…,” Lance says sounding breathless, and allows Pidge and Allura to inspect it, while Hunk commemorates the stitch-work and handiness that’s shown. 

“It’s surprisingly soft,” Pidge settles while pulling the blanket over her arms after she’s successfully stolen it from the rest of her friends while Lance pulls out a new shark plushie from the bag. 

It’s definitely bigger than Lancito Jr., though it seems to be more of an intergalactic creature that resembles a shark than something actually from Earth. But Lance hugs it all the same while reaching for his last gift, and his eyes widen brightly when he unravels a neatly wrapped piece of cloth to reveal a small ring. 

“Oh, hey, I remember that!” Allura calls over Lance’s shoulder as they all crowd in to inspect the piece of jewelry. 

“It’s pretty…,” Keith says, inspecting the ring’s silver color with an oddly shaped jewel welded to the middle. 

“It’s not just pretty, it’s the rock you stole from Lance from _years_ ago. But I guess you finally got the gem from it,” Hunk says, and Keith looks at him as though he’s just laid an egg or something equally befuddling. 

“The rock I- _what_?”

“On one of our first missions, we came across this coal mining colony who had this really rare crossover gem that was a mix between two of their most prized jewels- see, you can see the blending of the blue and red making a purple in the middle,” Pidge explains while pointing to ring. And sure enough, Keith sees that the hints of lavender color from the stone that comes from the small flecks of red on one half and indications of blue on the other. 

“Anyway, you and I made a bet that whoever found one of these rocks would have to do the other’s chores for a month. But then when I actually found the diamond, I couldn’t get it out of the original rock without almost breaking it. So I told you if you helped me get the gem out I wouldn’t make you do my laundry, but then you kept it and said you _lost it_ ,” Lance finishes the story with a soft smile, and looks over his shoulder to meet Keith’s eyes with something mild and deliberate. It makes Keith feel like he’s being touched with Lance’s soft cocoa eyes, and it takes all the willpower he has to not melt on the spot.

It takes a while for his heart to reconcile after that and climb _out_ of his mouth. The only thing more dangerous than wearing your heart on your sleeve is wearing it on your tongue, like candy that never melts or a jaw breaker that never breaks anything but your spirit. 

So Keith is silent while Lance puts the ring on his finger, pulls his chosen family in for a hug, and decides to end the night with hot cocoa and a little ocean ASMR from his mechanical conch shell. 

And when Lance lays his head on Keith’s shoulder, with his hand-crafted blanket draped over his lap and alien chocolate on his breath, Keith does his best not to reach over and… and… he doesn’t really finish the thought.

Because somehow amidst all the chaos he hadn’t taken much notice to how completely _exhausted_ he was.

Perhaps it's the pressure of holding unrequited love on your shoulders, or the evening holding a long set of activities that didn’t end until well past midnight. But Keith is tired, and Lance feels warm on his shoulder with Pidge’s head in his lap. So he sets his cupped chocolate to the side and yawns, and lets himself close his eyes, thinking of oceans and nights under Junigenian’s three moons with Lance. 

  
  


\- - 

  
  
  


The next time Keith wakes up, he has a crick in his neck, a raging headache, and _somebody’s_ foot in his back. So he turns over, and quickly notices the lack of warmth to his left, from where Lance used to be. 

After a quick glance around the room in the dark, with only thin creases and hints of neon colored lights offering a soft glow, he sees that both Lance and one of the blankets from the group’s nest of a bed on the floor is missing. 

So, without much thought or consideration of _why_ Lance might be missing, he goes to search for his missing partner in crime. 

He can’t be sure how long he wanders aimlessly in the dark, but he thinks it’s likely a long time because he peeks through at least five rooms before nearly getting lost in the castle. 

Keith starts to think maybe Lance just went to the bathroom and he should’ve just stayed put, and considers returning to the room, but just as he does he comes across Lance on the observation deck. 

He’s honestly a bit mystified at the sight that he sees: Lance hunched over in the dark, sitting in front of a large open window that exposes the natural landscape of the Junnigenian plains the castleship landed in, and he holds a small folded piece of paper in front of his face as though it bears all the answers to the world. 

“Hey,” Keith whispers while sitting beside Lance without an invitation, and smiles as Lance twists and turns to face him. And then quickly offers over some of his blanket, because Lance has always had an instinct of giving with no questions asked. “That's my letter?” 

“Yeah…,” Lance answers after a beat, and Keith takes in how his long fingers are shaking a bit and gripping the edges of the note tightly. 

“Did you read it?”

“No… not yet.”

Keith waits for a moment, expecting some sort of elaboration. Like, ‘your last letter was so awful I don’t want to waste my time,’ or ‘you’ve been really pushy today and I’m scared this letter might just take the cake, and I’m not talking about birthday cake.’ But no such words come, no matter how long Keith anxiously sits without saying anything, and so the past red paladin inevitably comes to the conclusion that he’ll have to be the one to take the initiative.

“Do you want me to read it to you?” Keith questions, and Lance nods. 

It’s after Lance has handed over the note that Keith skims it over and it comes back to him just how… how _much_ of himself he handed to Lance with this single slip of paper. He imagines what it’d have been like if Lance had read it in front of everyone earlier, and feels heat rush to his face from the hypothetical mortification. 

“God, this is embarrassing…,” Keith observes, putting a hand over his mouth out of shock from the things he’d written in his overwhelmed state. 

“No it’s not,” Lance defends valiantly without hesitation, and Keith laughs. 

“You don’t even know what it says.”

“Then tell me,” Lance requests kindly, his eyes whole. And so Keith does. 

“Hey, Sharkbait. I’ve been thinking a lot today and there’s some things I wanted to tell you, but I’m honestly not sure what to say. I figured it’d be easier to put my thoughts on paper, so here it goes,” Keith reads slowly, hesitating for a moment because he knows what comes next. He tries to prolong the predetermined for as long as he can, but he knows he has to come out with it when Lance nudges him in the arm and forces him to continue. “I like you. And I think I might love you, too.” 

Keith hears it so sharply- the catching of Lance’s breath, hooked on his words and grappling to them for dear life off a ledge of fate- that he worries for a moment that Lance has choked on his breath. But when he looks off his shoulder to the man beside him, Lance is there just fine, looking at him with all the intent of a huntsman that’s just found something he desperately wishes to take home. A type of something that’ll be kept as a prized possession and framed over a mantle or somewhere equally nice for all the world to see. Unsure of what to make of Lance’s expression, Keith hesitantly reads more. 

“I don’t know how it happened. But I guess I know why. You’re kind and gentle and considerate and just… everything I would’ve never expected of a person. I didn’t think people like you existed, but you do. You’re heroic and always so full in everything. It feels like you fill a room, but in the way that sunlight does and lights everything up. Does that make sense?” Keith stops to ask this question with his eyes, and Lance gently nods. “I think you’re my sunlight, Lance. Or I’d like you to be. 

“As a kid I always had this feeling I was alone, because even when my dad was around people just tolerated me. Sometimes I got the feeling my dad partially loved me because I was all he had of my mom, and he didn’t really know how to deal with having a kid. And that was fine, because either he was my dad and all I had. And then he was gone and I didn’t think I’d ever get to have someone I could love no matter what again.” Keith tries to grit through it, but he finds himself blinking rapidly to hold back the tears as he reads this. Because he knows it to be true, and that’s probably the most painful admission he’s ever made. 

It wasn’t a complaint- about Takayuki Kogane loving Keith for all the ways he was the woman he’d lost, but it didn’t hurt any less. Knowing that some parts of his facial structure or unruly fangs pained his dad and yet was a part of the reason his father would hold him so close at night. It hurt in a weird gaping way, because Keith couldn’t have any resent or anger about it. That was just the way in which his father knew how to love him, for all the things he represented rather than what he just was, and Keith was grateful for it anyway. But now, thinking about it and reading it in his own small and unkempt writing, it brings tears to his eyes. 

It’s not until Lance is offering him some support by swiping away a tear and pinning a lock of hair behind his ear that he’s able to choke back a sob and keep reading. 

“But then along came you. Soft and blue and yet fiery red, and I can’t stop thinking about you. I’m losing my mind over it, Lance, I swear. I don’t know how to not love you, honestly, because you make it too easy. You’re giving me so much with every glance and every smile and every touch and I can’t help wanting… wanting to give back I guess. I don’t know what love is exactly,” Keith says and sniffles a little as Lance combs a hand through his hair. “but I think you’ve been starting to show me. And I think I love you.”

Keith hadn’t left enough room on the paper to write a signature, and it’s for the best because he can’t read a single syllable more. He’s never been all that big on crying, especially in front of people. 

He’s perfected the art, of _not_ crying, actually. He’s got the gritting of teeth and tightening of fists down to a tee. He’s an ace at flapping his long eyelashes like window-wipers against the dripping wetness of hot tears, and he can swallow down any lump in his throat like a family pack of Dr. Peppers from the local Quicki-Mart. 

But all of these things go out the window that night. When he turns to meet Lance’s gaze, he’s met with a steady river of fresh tears falling off of Lance’s face. His brown eyes are all pupil in the dark- no honey nut or cocoa-puff brown of his irises in sight. And it sends Keith reeling so far he worries he might manage to fall further somewhow. 

Instead he buries his face in Lance’s shoulder in an attempt to hide his embarrassment as he lets tears fall from his eyes, and feels Lance’s tight but tender grip wrap around him in response. 

“I… I love you too,” Lance laughs a little breathless and a little on cloud nine, burying his face in Keith’s face hair.

“Really?” Keith questions, disbelief rising off his voice. 

“Yeah. I kinda have for a long time.”

This makes Keith sit up quickly and frown with meaning. 

“Why didn’t you say something then?” he interrogates, and Lance wipes at his face. 

“I did but…I don’t know. It’s been complicated. I guess you must’ve changed your mind whenever you wrote that letter,” Lance admits. 

“What do you mean whenever I wrote it?”

“Well, I’m assuming you- wait, do you remember writing this?” Lance asks, tilting his head and letting his forehead knit together. 

“I wrote it today… I just slipped it into your gift bag before handing it to you,” Keith explains, trying to catch a train car on Lance’s train of thought, but missing the station entirely. Lance loosens his grip around him and Keith watches his face go hard right in front of him, and it sends a panic to shoot through his chest. “What is it?” 

“You… then nothing’s really changed.”

“I don’t understand,” Keith states anxiously as Lance begins to scrub at his face with his wide palms and a groan. 

“I was so stupid for thinking-... I’m sorry, I misunderstood.” Lance seems to go to stand, but Keith catches him by the wrist and tugs on his arm with all his might. 

“What don’t you understand? I said I… I l-love you, and you said it back. What’s your deal?” 

“The _deal_ is this is a mistake, okay? The only reason you’re telling me this now is because you don’t remember me, but as soon as all the memories you’ve had of me messing up and saying the wrong thing and just being _me_ come back, you aren’t going to feel this way anymore,” Lance answers, his voice surprisingly even compared to the way that his hands shake and his face crumples. “And I know that because that’s the way it’s always been. You’ve never liked me until now, apparently, when you only know half of me.” 

Keith feels his face burn with unmatched anger, and he has to bite his tongue for a few seconds to keep from saying something that he won’t be able to take back. Mentally, he reminds himself of one of Shiro’s stupid breathing exercises before doing his best to answer calmly.

“Lance, that- it doesn't matter what I thought of you before now, okay? My feelings aren’t just going to disappear as soon as I get my memories back. I’m not going to forget the past few days I’ve spent with you and how you make me feel,” Keith tries, determined to get his message through, but it doesn’t quite reach despite his best efforts. 

“Won’t it though? I mean, be honest, what the hell could have happened in the past three days that hasn’t already happened in the last three _years_ between us? Nothing’s changed other than you not knowing me.”

“Could you- okay what the fuck was the point then. Lance? The hand holding, the bed sharing, you looking at me with that _face_ if you were just going to turn around and tell me I don’t actually love you?” Keith erupts, running an angry hand through his hair as Lance avoids eye contact. 

“ _God_ , I tried, okay? I tried not loving you, alright? But how the hell was I supposed to do that when you- you didn’t push me away for the _first_ time?” Lance stammers. “All I’ve ever wanted is for you to let me love you for once and this is the first time I felt like, I don’t know, I wasn’t hurting you or something every time I touched you. And I knew it was selfish, but I thought maybe if I loved you as close as I could without actually saying anything then you’d understand. But I can’t let you say you love me when I know it’s not really true.” 

“What happened to you saying I’m still me?” Keith questions with fresh tears rolling off his face. “What happened to you saying I usually stayed until morning and that I’m not all that different? What the hell was that, some bold faced lie? I thought that this was just us- that we were always- I don’t know! Just, why didn’t you _say something_?!” 

“What the hell was I supposed to say? That you usually stay until morning but you don’t like to talk about it because you like to keep me at arm’s length?” Lance fires back with just as much pain and anger behind his voice, if not more from the build-up of unaddressed feelings he’s kept at bay. “That I’m just your lap dog that’ll follow you around like a hopeless puppy hoping that someday you’ll take me seriously?” 

“I’m sorry…,” Keith apologizes for who Lance says him to be, though it doesn’t sit right with him. “I-I didn’t know.”

“Of course not, and I don’t blame you. I’m sorry for yelling, I just… I can’t stand you saying that when I know you won’t feel that way a week from now.” 

Keith watches as Lance buries his face in his knees, and gingerly places a hand over his. “But how can you be sure? If I feel this way now, what makes you think it’ll all just go away?” 

“Because,” Lance answers. “I wrote you love letters everyday for a month and tried to tell you every way I could how much you mean to me. I begged and begged for you to give me- _us-_ a chance and then you joined the Blade. I don’t think a breakfast of malofruit turnovers and a birthday party is going to make a big difference between that.” 

“But,” Keith pleads, his lip trembling as he watches his home fall in front of him. This place for his heart he’d thought he’d found, and yet it was already falling apart in front of him. “I know I’m going to love you tomorrow and the day after that and probably for the rest of my life. Because love is supposed to be unconditional isn’t it? It doesn’t matter-”

“Keith,” Lance interrupts, resting a hand on Keith’s chest with determination in his voice. “I already know how this is going to end. Please save me the heartache by not giving me hope.” 

Keith tries to make sense of it all; tries to put together the pieces and the frame of the picture so that it makes a little more sense. But there’s too many punctured holes in the painting of their relationship- before he lost his memories and especially now- and it’s too hard to see anything clearly. So he resigns. He hands over his badge and clocks out, knowing that if he walks away now there may not be any coming back for this, but he doesn’t know what else to do. 

“Goodnight, Lance,” he sighs, and plants a gentle kiss against the soldier’s soft skin just a hair away from his actual lips. He tries not to think of how he tasted the sweet and salty mix of chocolate and tears at the corner of Lance’s mouth, or how he saw the flash of hurt and pain cross his features. 

Maybe Lance had wanted Keith to fight and stay. Maybe he needed one more push to assure him that Keith’s confession was real, and that his love _wasn’t_ circumstantial. But by the time Keith has walked off and made it to his room, slamming into his unused bed, he’s all choked up on sobs and can’t think of things that he should’ve done differently. All he can think of who he wishes he was. 

He wishes he _was_ somebody who openly loved Lance, for the entirety of the universe to see. Or maybe just for Lance to see, because that’s who he needed to know his inner emotions the most. 

He mourns for what could’ve been, his heart set aflame with a hatred for himself. How could there be a version of himself that pulls Lance on a string without even realizing it? Or maybe that other version of him _did_ know, but didn’t care?

It doesn’t make any sense to him, and he falls asleep thinking of what, or who he should be to Lance. He tries his best to recall the circumstances of his relationship to get a little better of an understanding.

\- -

And in the morning, he remembers. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me, deliberately making Lance a bit of an asshole in this chapter: I was bored so I ruined lunch. Purposefully. And I had fun doing it <3  
> Oh, and if you’ve never had baked/fried plantains with sugar or salt on top you are MISSING out!!!  
> Anyhow! I’ve been thinking and I’m considering making a series/part two to this fic? In which it’s a follow-up to this whole thing from Lance’s POV? I already have ideas and a name for it, and I’d probs post it in October since this fic only has a chapter and epilogue left.  
> Plus, I know I haven’t even finished this fic yet...but I already have another idea outside of this fic entirely on top of the part two. I already have the timeline and plot planned out and everything (sad, ik) It would be a modern high school au where Keith and Lance are popular YouTubers with hidden identities and they just so happen to find out they’re each other’s favorite YouTuber and there’s ofc side drama with social media elements and other cool stuff. Idk if that sounds like something cool or not though. 
> 
> Anyway, comments and kudos are highly appreciated as always and my tumblr is @hearttpoem! Bye! Xxx


	7. i finally feel like me again (another lie, another lie i’ll get it right)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> suddenly i know  
> that i’m on my way home  
> to you for the last time  
> it’s not what you wanted  
> but I know you got this  
> and you’re gonna be fine
> 
> -night bus, gabrielle aplin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hoooooly hell I can’t believe that I’m finally finished with this chapter. And I can’t believe this is the finale to this fic, that’s so frigging crazy? I’m trying not to make a milk jug out of a carton, but this is my first fic and it’s so... long? And all the comments have been so sweet and helpful and I’ve had so much fun writing this!! I can’t believe it’s over :( 
> 
> But as always, thank you Anna for motivating to write this and being sweet as always. And thank you to everyone’s who’s left kudos and comments thus far, I’m so grateful for that! I definitely wouldn’t have continued writing if it wasn’t for the interactions I’ve received thus far, no matter how big or small! <3
> 
> And even more fun news, I’m graduating in like... a month? Which is kinda nerve wracking but also great news to anyone cares about me writing a part two to this fic! There’s a lot of things I wanted to include, but it didn’t feel right to conclude everything in this chapter because I didn’t want the ending to seem like too much? So I’m gonna make this fic a little short series with a part two from Lance’s point of view, and that’ll most likely be posted in November since that’s when I’ll have a bit more free time! So if you like my writing look forward to that? And... idk if anyone who’s read this fic likes my writing THAT much but I’d appreciate a beta reader so... if you’re interested in that hmu on tumblr @pasparpeach or Instagram @milkutofu ig. Or just message me to message me. I have senioritis and any and all distractions from my homework are welcome tbh.
> 
> And lastly! This didn’t fit in the end notes but I just wanted to say I hope the super long anecdotes of Keith’s childhood aren’t annoying at the beginning of every chapter? I wanted each chapter to tie with some part of Keith’s past, leading up to Lance being the last person Keith has a flashback to because that’s the last person he loves/ considers romantically? If that makes sense? I just... wanted Keith to reminisce on his life to tie in with the title basically, but I’m sorry if the flashbacks are too long and it takes too much time to get to the meat of each chapter! Idk, maybe I’ll edit things down a bit. 
> 
> Anyway! Sorry in advance for any typos in this fic, I proofread and edited it in like one night at 3am to procrastinate on my AP gov project that was due two weeks ago so <3 this chapter’s a bit wonky lmao
> 
> But I hope it’s still enjoyable anybody and ty again to everybody’s who gotten this far and actually liked my writing! Much love and enjoy! Xxxx

vii.

  
  


There are some aspects of life that just have to be bit down on and swallowed, never to be acknowledged or seen again. 

Everybody’s had one of these moments- where things go left when they should’ve gone right, or when sunshine turns to rain or jubilee turns to something a whole lot more dark and uncomfortable. In moments like this, the only natural response is to just chew at the corners of what’s happened until the moment is torn and gone, and then move on. And some might not exactly chew or bite or swallow; some will inhale where others will close their eyes. A few people will turn their cheeks, and some might smile and grit through until they’re in the comfort of their rooms to cry. But no matter the details of said response, everyone’s had that experience. 

The experience of having to flip past the pages of second-hand embarrassment or pain so fast that you pretend you never read it, like that chapter doesn’t exist altogether. It’s familiar to everyone, some more than others. 

Keith Kogane more than others. 

It’s to be expected, for obvious reasons. Basketcase orphan with a bad temper and even worse general social skills. Of course he, of all people, would regularly find himself stuck in that bite-your-lip and hold-your-tongue world of agony. Of course _he’d_ constantly have to suffer through a series of motions that, by the finish line, would have him decisively repressing whatever he’s felt. 

He’s done it so many times. The biting, the chewing, the swallowing, the accepting. It’s almost like second nature, to just take whatever the universe decides to hurdle at him at rates that knock his heart out of the park and his breath into another atmosphere. And it’s _fine_ , really. Sure, there’s plenty of unfortunate memories that have settled across his stomach lining from all that damn swallowing, but it’s one of the many things he’s gotten used to. 

There’s one memory, however, that doesn’t settle well in his gut. He recalls it painfully, though he tries to pretend he doesn’t, but the stomach ache is hard to ignore- there’s no amount of Tylenol or Pepto Bismol that can cure this kind of ailment. It’s a stabbing pain, pricking him from odd ends from his intestines and causing him to be sore all the way up to his ribs. And he knows why, though he doesn’t let himself dwell on it. 

It’s still there, however. That damned memory that was harder to swallow than a dry pill the size of a bullet, and sits in his stomach even more harshly now than it ever has. 

That damned memory of Lance. 

  
  


\- -

It was sophomore year, Keith thinks. It had to be, because junior year is a separate memory that’s been swallowed all on its own, and it doesn’t hurt quite in the same way. 

So, yes, it was very late spring or very early summer- depending on who you ask- at the Garrison, and Keith was even broodier than usual (which was obvious, no matter who you ask). 

Keith, circa age sixteen with a voice that’s still cracking and knuckles that crack even more often, was an expert brooder. By then he’d nailed the Kogane brow, sharper than his signature blade, and his snarl showed off his canines just right so that his victims were always left scattering and wondering if they just _imagined_ he had fangs. 

And because of this, plus the rumors that he was probably a vampire and almost-definitely related to Takashi Shirogane in some way, people knew to steer clear of Keith Kogane. Especially by the tail end of sophomore year, because by then he’s more of a foreboding excuse of a student than he is an actual person. It doesn’t help that no one truly knew why he was so angry, either. For all the average Garrison undergraduate knew, it was but a side effect of him transitioning through one of his supernatural vampire powers or something, and whoever approached him next would become his unsuspecting victim. (Unlikely, yes, but better safe than sorry.)

So, as can be imagined, Keith’s a little more than upset- not to mention half surprised- when he’s rather aggressively approached by What’s-His-Face with the pointy chin. 

“Hey, are you listening?”is how Keith is disturbed from his third reverie of the day, and he can’t deny that he’s more than a little perturbed. 

“What?” Keith snaps, without even trying, because somehow being short and unforthcoming had become his default setting within that past week. 

“Okay, so you _weren’t_ listening. We have a group project to do and you’re my partner, Mullet,” What’s-His-Face answers with a tone that’s just as short as Keith’s, and it’s then that Keith observes the room to see that everyone’s grouped in pairs with a textbook or one of the classroom laptops.

“What?” is all he can manage, a little quieter than the first time he’s said it, but Pointy Chin still rolls his eyes while opening up the class’s textbook on Keith’s desk. 

“Ya know, I don’t know how you get such perfect grades. You don’t even pay attention in class,” he scoffs while Keith notes he’s already pulled up a chair, and he fails to come up with a retort. “But I guess it doesn’t hurt being Shirogane’s favorite.”

“ _Excuse_ me?” Keith retorts, scrambling to read his so-called project partner’s uniform’s name tag. “ _Alvarez_?”

“I- look, I don’t want to fight. Can we just start this stupid assignment?” the kid mumbles, and it irks Keith so bad he wants to punch him. But the dark brown eyes he’s leveled with- soft by the center but rimmed with something a little harder- makes him bite his tongue for the first time in a while. 

“Whatever,” Keith answers, and allows for “Alvarez” to tell him about the final project that they’ll have to work on for the remainder of the school year. And while Keith listens, he notes all the familiarities of this kid that he knows from previously pulling his hair and passing unappreciative comments in the halls. Like the edge in his voice as he speaks, and the rigid tautness in his shoulders. But the unfamiliarities as well. Like the way his eyes have gone soft as he lists different stellar collisions they could possibly make a diorama of, or the patience he shows when Keith has to ask him to repeat what he’s just said because Keith’s too busy doing all this _noticing._

By the end of the class period, Keith isn’t sure how much progress has been made, but he’s definitely forgotten- if only for just a moment why he was so angry earlier to begin with. 

When What’s-His-Face slaps his textbook closed, Keith takes note of the name ‘Lance Alvarez’ scribbled in marker on the book’s spine, and he savors the name as he finally remembers that name he’s sure he’s heard a dozen times but always seems to forget. 

He’s sure he’ll remember this time, based on the way Lance levels him with that unrelenting gaze and insists they meet later in the Garrison library to work further alongside his study group. 

Keith just has no idea, at the time, to what extent he’ll remember that name. 

Eventually, though, it starts to come to him. The idea that maybe Lance is more than just the annoying kid in half of his classes, and the realization that the kid is… acting different around him. Not a good different, either. Just plain weird. 

“You didn’t come to the study group,” Lance says to Keith in the library that evening after classes had long finished and the first round of dinner in the dining hall was being served. 

Keith had pinned himself into a small hovel between two of the larger bookshelves, in between the Health and Hospice section of reads- a place most people never visit. So it’s half a wonder that Lance even found him, and another that the taller teen’s response is to take a seat next to his Astronomy partner. 

“I was going to… but I don’t really like crowds,” Keith answers, and he resists from scooting away when he meets Lance’s insistent eyes. 

“Oh, right,” is all that’s said before his classmate is unzipping his bag to pull out a notebook and two pens, along with their Astronomy workbook. “Red or blue pen?”

“Red, obviously, but… what are you doing?” Keith says, while hesitantly accepting a _Bic_ pen with cat washi tape around its grip. 

“Doing our homework?”

“Yeah but-,” Keith rethinks his words, because he isn’t sure at first what to say or question. Why Lance is here, beside him flipping through pages about stardust, or perhaps he should say something to get Lance to leave? Does he even want this kid to leave? Something’s off about this situation, he knows, and it’s not just Lance being around. Lance always seems to be _around._ It’s something else. “You aren’t mad I missed the study group?”

“If it’s not your thing, it’s not your thing,” Lance answers easily, before briefly chewing at the cap of his pen. “Besides, as long as this work gets done I don’t care how.” 

“Well… aren’t you missing dinner right now?” 

Lance’s eyes briefly flit to meet his, and it gives Keith that odd feeling again. That something about this situation is incorrect, while also making him want to… well, he isn’t sure. And that uncertainty is certainly upsetting. 

“I have dinner next hour,” Lance responded, and that was that. 

It wasn’t until around an hour later, when one of Lance’s friends- Hunk, Keith later finds out- finds them still huddled in the bookshelves’ crevice, that Keith finds out what it is that is so out of sorts. 

“Lance! You said you were on your way to dinner nearly an hour ago, what happened?” Hunk stresses, and Lance quickly slaps his notebook shut while Keith blinks quickly. 

“I thought you had dinner _next_ hour.”

“I must’ve gotten my block schedules mixed up,” Lance quickly answers while rushing to throw his things in his backpack, and Hunk frowns. 

“You have dinner the same time everyday, what do you-?”

“Let’s go, Hunk!” Lance interrupts after pulling on his book bag, steering Hunk away. “Bye, Keith.” 

It’s after the two of them have left the library, and then a little later when he’s reached Adam’s quarters to share a quick dinner that he realizes what’s different about his interactions with his peer. 

Lance was direct- as always, that’s a given. Even Keith knew that, though he hardly knew Lance at all. But he was a lot more quieter. A lot more… less. A bit of paradox, but the week had already been a bit stressful. It was no surprise that more things than one would change. 

“So, how was your day?” Adam asked over something that Keith supposes is meant to pass as pasta, but looks more like old shoestrings in Alfredo cheese. 

“It was…,” Keith hesitates, and pretends not to notice how Adam seems pleasantly surprised to hear Keith say something that isn’t a snarky retort or cynical remark for the first time all week. “okay I guess. Could’ve been worse, could’ve been better.”

Keith does his best not to let his eyes fall on Shiro’s usual seat at their everyday setup. He tries not to think about the missing member of their trio, or how Adam has been doing an exceptional job at pretending it’s always been just them. Maybe even a little _too_ good of a job. 

But it’s hard not to think about, especially after their shared meal. Especially as time goes on with Shiro somewhere in space, on his Kerberos mission that’s split his makeshift family apart. Especially when he visits Lance’s room to work on their project one afternoon and there’s an oversized promotional poster on the wall that reads ‘ _Become a cadet. Become a hero.’_ in a pretentious font with Shiro front and center, his chin upturned. 

“Cool, right?” Lance said when Keith paused in his steps to stare at it upon entering the room. 

“No, it’s stupid. Become a hero? What does that even mean?” Keith answered with a chilly voice to contrast with his former-burning temper, and pretended not to notice the way Lance frowns. 

“Has anyone ever told you you’re kind of mean?” Lance sighed. 

“Has anyone ever told you shut the fuck up so we can do this stupid project?” Keith feels bad after he says it, and it’s not the first time he’s dropped words that split off from his tongue like grenades instead of the firecracker he’d intended. But the poster _is_ kind of dumb, as an obnoxious reminder of his mentor he’s lost to an uncalled for mission. And maybe more, if Shiro’s leukemia got any say so. 

So he doesn’t apologize to Lance, or even think to until after they’ve finished creating their online model on Keith’s laptop and Lance has scribbled a list of the supplies they’ll need for their real life version. 

“Hey,” Lance said while nudging his foot against Keith’s from where he’d sat across his dorm’s floor, right when Keith thought to call it a night.

“ _What_?” 

“Um… you know, when I’m upset about something I usually listen to music. Do you have a favorite song?” 

Before Keith could question this, Lance was getting up off the floor and pulling an iPod speaker out of one of his desk’s drawers. 

“I’m not upset.”

“You like Fall Out Boy, right? You look like a Fall Out Boy kinda guy,” Lance said over Keith’s objection, and this is enough for Keith to begin to pack his work into his book bag as he realizes what’s about to occur. “Oh, c’mon, don’t leave. I’m sure I can cure your grouchiness, Mr. Grinch.”

“I’m _not_ grouchy, you’re just annoying.” Lance fixed him a look so unfiltered, so full of _something_ , that he relents. Because at that moment it felt like the first and last time he’d feel that something, and he wanted to hold onto it in Lance’s eyes while he could. “Okay, fine. I guess… I guess I wouldn’t mind if you played Fleetwood Mac.”

“Ah, so he has taste!” Lance hums before snatching his iPod out of his bookbag’s pockets and setting it on his speaker. “My best friend- Hunk- he loves Fleetwood Mac. He has this theory that you should always bake to Fleetwood for perfect sugar cookies, Diana Ross for chocolate chip, Elvis for peanut butter, and Madonna for macadamian. But, for obvious reasons, sugar cookies are his favorite so that means lots of Mac.” 

Keith doesn’t bother questioning the science behind this theory, why Lance’s friend has the same music taste that his dad did, or what is that makes sugar cookies better than any other cookie. Not when, all too quickly, a song from one of his favorite albums is playing. 

“Now,” Lance instructs as the song crackles through the speakers. “The art to de-maddening yourself is just laying down and focusing on the song. If you just stare at the ceiling long enough listening to good music, everything else just seems… less important.” 

Keith takes note of Lance lying down beside him, and after a bit of bargaining, he does the same. He ignores how itchy the carpet feels on his arms without his jacket on, or how weird it is that Lance smells like a pineapple fruit cup, and opts to just enjoy the song for a moment. 

_Tell me lies/ Tell me sweet little lies/ Although I'm not making plans/ I hope that you understand…_

He doesn’t think about it much, if at all, but by the time the song has ended and segued into the beginning of ‘Everywhere’ from the same album, Keith catches himself humming and realizes that he’s… well he’s not necessarily angry anymore. Peevish, yes, but not enraged. 

He snuck a look in Lance’s direction, and he thinks maybe Lance has fallen asleep somehow. That is, until Lance starts singing along with the lyrics, and for some reason that makes the moment better. It causes that _something_ to seep back into his pores once more, and by the time ‘Gypsy’ is playing, Keith has his hands behind his head and feels at peace. Or the closest he’s come to it in a long time. 

So when Lance rolls over and whispers to him quietly, he doesn’t feel that initial reserve quite as strongly. 

“So, what _were_ you upset about?” Lance said it so quietly, so smoothly and without demand that it’s easy for Keith to answer with a shrug. Maybe a little too easy.

“It’s just…,” he tried. “I guess it’s kind of hard not having Shiro around.” He doesn’t bring up how Shiro was diagnosed with a terminal illness, conveniently chose not to tell anyone about it, and then left Keith and Adam in the dust to pick up the pieces. He doesn’t bring up the abandonment or hurt he felt, what with his pre existing issues with being left behind.

He never brings it up, because he’s long ago decided he doesn’t need to. Because Lance offers Keith reassurances that remarkably don’t feel empty. Because at later meetings Lance offers Keith sugar cookies he stole from Hunk, and passes him notes in class that Keith doesn’t necessarily encourage but doesn’t _hate_ either. Because Keith and Lance finish their Astronomy project, and Lance tells Keith what he’s going to do over the summer and all about his birthday plans on the last day of school. 

“It’s too bad you can’t come, I’m sure Mami would really like you. She’s been saying she wants a new son since my brothers and I had a water gun fight in the house a couple summers ago.”

Keith didn’t think of how he’d probably stick out like a sore thumb as such a cold person in an otherwise warm household, or how Lance’s mom probably wouldn’t appreciate an orphan being dragged into her house like a stray dog. The sentiment is still there though, with Lance and Keith sitting on the roof of the Garrison while they wait for Hunk to come back from his snack run to the vending machine. 

The sentiment- of Lance even thinking to offer his home in the smallest of ways- is enough for Keith to appreciate as he thinks of what his summer will be like back at his group home instead of at the Garrison with Lance always a note or classroom away. It’s enough for him to think of that _something_ he’s getting used to, and he bites down on it before swallowing in an attempt to hold onto it for later. In case this is the last time he feels that way, looking at brown eyes under dusty desert stars. 

It went down well at the time, but years later, now that Keith is older and his relationship with Lance has swollen and swelled into something much more complicated… well, he can’t say it doesn’t hurt now. That his stomach doesn’t bloat or cramp at that memory of Lance when they were so much less than they are now and somehow still everything to Keith. 

Now, with Keith as a grown man who doesn’t feel like he’s grown all that much at all, he wishes he could go back. If only to feel that something again. Or maybe to tell his sixteen-year-old self not to clamp down on that feeling so tightly. To spit it out and set it free, instead of selfishly holding it so close to his heart right in his gut. 

Because maybe if he hadn’t kept it, hadn’t held onto the stars in Lance’s eyes or the genuine joy in his voice, it would hurt a little less.

  
  


\- -

  
  


The morning Keith wakes up, memories and all, he’s a little amazed at how much he remembers. He wonders, initially, if he remembers even more than he did _before._

He wonders why that memory of sixteen-year-old Lance passing him notes and sharing his iPod with him is so fresh in his mind like it’s never been before, and decides that maybe it’s because it’s more relevant than it’s ever been. It mattered when Keith became a high school dropout with nothing to call his own or a reason in his mind to stay in the suffocating situation that was the Garrison. It mattered, because not long before he left he’d said some choice words to a certain Alvarez that made the significance of shared nights and exchanged words both disspitate and stand out all at once. 

But now, all these years later, it’s even more important. Because that’s their foundation, and Keith is hoping it’s enough to stand up against the mess Keith has caused. 

Because, boy, is it a mess he’s made. And for what? To prove some point against the odds? Or maybe just the opposite- to admit to himself that he’s no different than what’s expected of him, and that that’s okay. 

He thought he had a reason to push Lance away after all this time. To say no when he was really thinking yes or to avert his gaze when he was already transfixed on Lance’s eyes. He had believed that there was a method to the madness, but after the past weekend he’s had, he wonders the validity of it all. 

Still, just because he wonders doesn’t mean he gives in. After several minutes, or maybe even hours (he can’t be sure, time seems to blend and melt when at a loss) he comes to the conclusion that he must hold his ground. That as much as he’d like to prove Lance wrong, he can’t. Because the red paladin was right. 

As much as he loved Lance last night, he can’t love him now. And maybe not ever. 

\- -

  
  


For the longest time in Keith’s life, he’s been forced to take refuge from the trials of life in any way he can. In first grade, the place he felt safest was somewhere tailing after his father. In the third grade it was any place deep and quiet in the forest (until unfortunate events), in sixth it was at Cup of Kitty cafe, and at the Garrison it was in the nooks and crannies of the library.

Now, years later when he’s much older but arguably still the same person at heart, Keith is forced to look to his chosen family of misfit guardians of the galaxy for a safe haven. What it is exactly that he’s running from he says to himself he isn’t sure, although it’s more accurate to say he doesn't want to think about it. The elephant in the room had been there for a while, loudly perched off the cliff of Keith’s thoughts, but by the time there’s a knock at his door it’s blown up to be the size of a skyscraper and he pushes it so far back in his mind that it’s almost easy to pretend it isn’t there as Hunk enters his room. Almost.

“Keith? You awake?” Hunk asks him, and Keith manages to pull a smile as he hears the cluttering of a tray and silverware in his blundering friend’s hands. It’s enough to cause him to sit up from his bed, and Hunk sets what looks to be a breakfast of fruit and some pink goo on his bedside table. “Sorry to barge in, but we were all pretty worried when we didn’t see you at breakfast. And I thought you should probably know the castle is taking off soon, we’re just loading some cargo and running last minute tests now.” 

“Thanks, Hunk,” Keith says, though he’s nearly shocked at how much he doesn’t sound like himself. Or maybe this is what his voice has always been like; hardened and raspy and... _dead_ almost. Though he’d been wanting to be more of himself all weekend, he somehow felt _less_ recognizable to himself now that he had his memories back. 

The room falls quiet as Hunk fails to say anything, but also makes no motions to leave. And Keith is still reeling about, well, _everything_. So the past black paladin’s room is silent for several ticks, and Keith wonders if this is how it was before. If even the smallest and insignificant interactions were so painstaking and he just never bothered to notice until now. For some reason he can’t make sense of what things were like before. 

“Hey, Keith?” 

“Um… yeah?”

“Did-” Hunk hesitates for a minute, rubbing his gloved hands across his pants and then crossing his arms, only to uncross him. The movements make Keith want to quickly pry, but then he thinks better of it. If Hunk is nervous, even more so than usual, then maybe what was about to be said wasn’t something he wanted to hear. “Did-are… are you okay?”

Keith actually stops and thinks about this.

_Am I okay? Define ‘okay’._

The obvious answer is no; abso-fucking-lutely _not._ He just realized a lot of things in the past forty-eight hours surrounding the guy who’d been superglued to his mind and heart for the past five years or so, and none of those things were particularly good. But none of those things were open for discussion or speculation, either. So the even _more_ obvious answer was yes; be it true or not. 

“I’m fine, why?” Keith feigns one of his smiles that are only really smiles by Keith’s standards, because that’s all he can really administer while giving the yellow paladin a bold-faced lie. And he knows that Hunk knows he’s lying, based off of the face he’s barely holding up and the hesitation on his answer, but they both just stare at one another before Hunk shrugs. 

“No reason… I guess last night was just pretty crazy, right?” It’s easy to see based off of Hunk’s tone of voice that he’s chary of his former leader’s words. And where there’s the Kogane brow, sharp and daring, there's the Garret-Tupuola frown that displayed the disbelief and measured thoughts of Hunk. Keith could read it clear as day, but he paid it no heed. He put on his usual mask and played the everyday charade he’d grown used to long ago. 

“Yeah, it was. But I’m good, promise. I just… have a really bad headache.” _If headaches were heartaches for guys that are 6’2” tall with long fingers and chocolate eyes._

“I won’t bother you, then. But if you feel up to it, Lance and I could use your help loading some things in storage,” Hunk finally settles, backing out of the room, and Keith tries not to appear too relieved to see him leave. As much as the former owner of the red lion appreciated the yellow soldier, he desperately needed the time to himself to think to himself on how he was going to handle his ongoing “headache.” But before he could properly say goodbye, his friend looked over his shoulder and smiled. “By the way, I’m glad to see you’re back to normal.” 

Keith bites at his lower lip until skin is ripped and ripe, wondering where he went wrong. Wondering what it is that he said that tipped off the trusted engineer. But as he blinks several times, dark eyelashes flapping like baby bird wings trying to take flight for the first time, he realizes it may have been something he _didn’t_ say. He thinks of Lance telling him his usual self is a lot more reserved than he was with amnesia, and he thinks of how he’d known Hunk for five tiresome years, and he sighs. 

“Thanks. Glad to be back.” 

At that his friend leaves, and he’s quickly reminded of how dry and empty his room is without company outside of his never ending train of thoughts. It’s fitting, however, he thinks. The overcoming lack thereof of anything at all reminds him of his time in the desert- tragically arduous and fraught, and he takes it as a minor self-punishment for all the things he’s done. Or maybe it’s more of what he hasn’t done? 

Is the pain in the things he said to Lance last night, or the things he _didn’t_ say prior to losing his memories? Was the error in him playing a game of cat-and-mouse with Lance for far too long and never letting it go anywhere, or was it the fact that he gave Lance the idea of something more in their relationship at all? 

He isn’t sure, and he’s stuck on the idea of more or less for what feels like several vargas before he comes to the conclusion that it doesn’t matter whether or not he gave or didn’t give. His thinking wouldn’t solve matters, as much as he wanted to figure things out, and he was running on a thin grain of time against a straining hourglass. 

As much as he didn’t wish to think Hunk would go off at the mouth about his sudden recovery, he knew better than to bank on best case scenarios. It didn’t take long for him to get ready for the day once he realized if he didn’t, Hunk might spill the beans regarding his abrupt replenishment in memories, and that anybody might come into his room to speak to him. _Anybody_ \- which, unfortunately, included Lance. 

After a brisk shower and throwing on his Mamorite suit in an even shorter span of time, he’s able to get himself to leave his quarters in exchange for finding a way to make himself useful. (And hopefully avoid Lance in the process.)

Much to his surprise, it doesn’t take much time for him to be whipped into a chore with Coran, organizing maps and coordinate points for the paladins’ upcoming travels. It’s just as Keith begins to save data logs to the castle’s main navigation system on the deck that Coran begins to launch into a long-winded story about the details of how he spent the majority of Lance’s birthday party that uncomfortably sounded a whole lot like underwater exotic dancing, and the former paladin comes to realize that he was in for a long day. Which, on most occasions, would be something he finds only a little less than insufferable. But within the next second, he comes to the conclusion that it’s either unprompted story time with his makeshift uncle, or an even _more_ excruciating story time of him explaining the knotted ins and outs of his heart to Lance. And maybe that second half was already preordained, but if he could prolong it at the very least then who was he to complain? 

So he sucked it up and pretended to listen intently to everything that Coran was saying. And while he made a map out of planets and nebulas, he also mapped out a plan for the day that he hoped would be enough to let him avoid Lance for as long as he could. 

It wasn’t easy work, either. Keith had thought battling sentry robots and overcoming an evil emperor was hard, but apparently it was just as difficult- if not more- to evade handsome not-so-strangers. 

The skydeck’s open floor plan wasn’t exactly the best place for hiding-without-really-hiding, which meant he had to weave and bob throughout the castle for the first couple hours of his day each time he heard voices or footsteps around the corner. This included excusing himself for a glass of water or to go to the bathroom or whatever it was that he could think of off the top of his head, when in reality all he did was slip away for a five minute breather. And each time, from around the corner, he’d hear familiar voices and it’d make his heart sink all the way to his boots. 

By the third time this happens, with Keith’s senses being triggered by the smallest of things, causing him to flee to some intersection or crook of the castle, he wonders how long he can keep up this charade. And when he hears Lance’s voice amidst the chaos, seemingly sharp and obtuse from down the hall, he decides not long. So he wanders down a familiar hallway with a newfound desperation and trepidation powering a storm in his gut, and enters the first door he sees. Which, apparently, comes to be Shiro’s room. 

“Keith?” 

The youngest Kogane is startled to hear his own name, as though it’s not his name at all and he’s been caught red handed pretending to be someone he’s not, and he soon realizes that’s _exactly_ what’s going on. And so it takes an extra moment for him to climb off the ledge of desperate measures, and to meet eyes with his brother. 

“Hey…,” he says, because what else can you say when you’ve just rushed into someone’s room for reasons you can’t exactly disclose? 

“Hey? I haven’t seen you all day, and all I get is a ‘hey?’” Shiro and Keith stare into opposing black irises for what feels like centuries, before it finally registers to the older man that something’s not right. That Keith is so far on edge that he’s hanging on by a line as thin as hair, and he’s begging for thread. “Hey, kiddo, what’s wrong?”

Something about Shiro’s tone is enough to bring Keith back down from whatever other worldly plane of existence he’s been stuck on since last night, and it’s enough for him to finally catch his breath and settle his stomach.

“Seriously, Shiro, you gotta stop calling me ‘kiddo,’” Keith breathes with a sigh, taking a seat off the edge of Shiro’s bed beside his sibling. “I’m old enough to do tax returns at this point.” 

Shiro arches an eyebrow, before messying Keith’s hair with a laugh. 

“Oh, I see what’s going on.”

“What? What’s going on?” Keith is so focused on relaxing in the presence of his mentor and fixing his fringe that he nearly forgets what he was so stressed about to begin with. That is, until Shiro reminds him.

“You finally got your memories back.” And just like that, Keith isn’t all that concerned about what his hair looks like. 

“Oh...yeah…,” he sighs, before wringing his hands together as a new wave of nausea overcomes him. “Is it that obvious?” 

“I don’t know, I’ve just known you long enough to tell the difference. Why? Is there… someone who you’re trying to keep from knowing?” Shiro arches his eyebrow again, and the former black paladin has to do his best not to shove his brother off his own bed. 

“You know, instigating isn’t very becoming of the leader of Voltron,” Keith murmurs before deciding that maybe he should’ve just stuck with Coran. 

“That bad, huh?” Shiro questions, though Keith hears an underlying laugh in his voice. 

“No. I just… don’t want the entire team to know, yet.”

“And this wouldn’t have anything to do with a certain red paladin, would it?” 

At that point, Keith can’t help but push Shiro in the arm, and _maybe_ he happens to push Shiro harder than he intended, but it’s not like Shiro doesn’t deserve it. Because, like Keith said, he has no business instigating a conversation he knows Keith wants nothing to do with. 

“So what if it does? It’s your fault, you know,” Keith huffs, and can’t help but stand before going on a minor rampage regarding his ongoing plight. He’d been holding his tongue all day, pretending as though nothing was wrong, but he couldn’t put up with it any longer. “Why’d you go and say all that junk about me being in love with- with _Lance_ ? Hell, why’d _everybody_ on this ship just decide that I’m in love with him?”

Keith thinks of saying more, because boy was there a _lot_ for him to say. Like how somebody should’ve told him to snap out of whatever lovesick frenzy he was on for the entirety of the weekend. Or, at the very least, tell him that Lance and him...him and Lance...well, it would’ve been nice if anybody had mentioned there _was no_ ‘Keith and Lance.’ 

But ultimately, he ends up diving into Shiro’s bed face-first with recognition that there isn’t much, if anything, that he can do about his problems. No amount of complaining or arguing was going to change his past with Lance. And besides; he was _really_ fucking tired. So he body-slams into sheets that aren’t his and allows himself to stay like that for as long as he possibly can. Or, as long as it is until Shiro disturbs him with a hand on his shoulder. 

“I’m sorry… did I miss something?” Keith hears, and he turns on his side facing the wall before frowning. He isn’t sure what to say- there isn’t exactly a script for the sort of situation he’d found himself in, and if there is then it must’ve gotten lost in the mail since FedEx doesn’t exactly ship to space. So he’s stuck diving in his own mind for a list of possible words to say; unfortunately for him, however, he’s at a complete loss. 

“It’s just, everybody really had me thinking that- that the way Lance and I were acting was _normal_.”

“Wasn’t it, though?” Shiro inquires, genuine perplexity on his face, and for some reason this upsets Keith even further. 

“What? No! We aren’t- we’re _friends_ , nothing more.” Keith makes an attempt to sit up, but when he does he wishes he hadn’t, because Shiro is doing such a piss-poor job at holding back a smirk it makes him want to punch him in the face. 

“Right, and I have two arms.”

“Shiro! I’m serious!” 

“Okay, okay, fine. You two are just friends,” Takashi finally settles once he registers the criticality sweeping across his younger brother’s features. “But what about that quote-on-quote bonding moment you _refuse_ to let Lance forget about? Or you two basically sharing everything but toothbrushes, lions included? Or- oh God- playing _footsie_ while people are trying to eat-?” 

“Alright, alright, I get it!” Keith resigns once his face has turned at least three shades darker, and he isn’t sure how much more embarrassing the conversation can become. “Lance and I are close, sure. But we aren’t like _that._ We just get each other… I guess.” 

Keith hopes this is enough for Shiro to understand his perspective on things, or at the very least a step in the right position. A step away from whatever outlandish orientation that apparently had his brother, as well as everyone else aboard the Castle of Lions, thinking that he was something outside of the ballpark of friend zones with Lance. 

As it turns out, it’s not enough. 

“Look,” Shiro starts, his eyes settling with a seriousness that causes Keith to want to look away, though he knows he can’t. “I don’t know everything there is to know about Lance, and I obviously need to be filled in on what’s happened between the two of you, but I know _you_ plenty. Meaning I know when you’re in denial and something tells me that you’re not being completely honest right now.” 

Keith immediately thinks to bark back with something that’s biting and pinching, until he realizes that he doesn’t have the energy to be up in arms with anyone, let alone Shiro. As much as he wants to defend his statements, he knows better than to even try. Because, though he’s taken up the position of lying to both himself and others, he deep-down knows the truth. And he’s sure that if the ins and outs of those truths are pushed any further, his thin line will snap as he runs out of ledge to hang onto. 

“Can we talk about something else?” Keith whispers instead of letting Shiro’s words get to him, and allows for a reassuring hand to rest on his shoulder. 

“Sure, kiddo.”

Keith isn’t sure what to bring up, still choking on the awkward fog that was the previously exchanged words still hanging in the air, and so he’s appreciative of Shiro deciding to go into detail about their upcoming missions without being asked. 

His extensive explanations give Keith the opportunity to take a breather, which he desperately needs considering talking about Lance always sends his lungs for a loop and leaves him slightly breathless. Not to mention it passes the time, prolonging the point in which he’ll have no choice but to speak to the dreaded knight in blue and slightly dented armor. 

“I’m just hoping everything goes as planned,” Shiro sighs an hour into their conversation, his arms crossed and a faraway look in his eyes. As though he’s keeping a watchful eye out for something that only he’d know to be wary of; something only he knows exists. And it makes the youngest Kogane worry. “There’s a lot of things that might change over the next few months, assuming Lotor might finally decide to come out of hiding, but until then we’ll just have to focus in on what we have at hand.”

“And then what?” Keith asks, without even really meaning to. It comes out as one of those questions that they both were likely wondering, but in the sort of way someone wonders if a person knows how much they mean to you or how their eyes sparkle in the moonlight- it’s one of those questions that flashes across the brain but is expected to be left unsaid. And when it leaps off the tongue, it’s only ever by chance. 

“What do you mean?” Shiro asks, dark eyebrows twisting and bunching with his forehead and Keith reiterates quickly, though _he_ isn’t even entirely sure what he means. 

“Just- even if everything goes exactly as planned- even if the Blade finds out where Lotor’s located and we all stop the next heir from taking up the throne and Haggar’s defeated…what do we do after that?” 

“Then… we do whatever’s next. If there is a next.” 

“And what if there isn’t?” 

“Then we go home, I guess. I don’t know, all we can do is try to take things one step at a time, Keith,” Shiro shrugs. Like this is obvious enough to not have to be said, while simultaneously not being something that’s been thought on much. 

Except it _has_ been thought of. Keith’s thought of this plenty, in fact. Because what else is there for him to ruminate on when he’s taking the long route home from a mission or when he’s forgoing sleep at the bottom of his Blade base bunk. What else is there to do but speculate on the sequence of events that have yet to occur, and what everything’s cause and effect might be. So far Keith has come to the conclusion that:

  1. Cause: Fight the Galra. Effect: Save the Universe.



But the list pretty much stops there, and doesn’t get much more detailed than that, because he can’t say what comes after. He can’t give a when or a how or even a full-course and hearty why, considering he doesn't exactly have the proper set of answers to those questions. All he knows is that he’s a soldier stuck in space, fighting something that’s a lot bigger than him, and that it’s more of a day-by-day full-time responsibility rather than a job with shifts you can switch with coworkers or rewards points. 

Much to his chagrin, this leaves a very big blurred line for the details of this job description. He’d thought, so many years ago, maybe it was temporary. And he’d still like to believe that. But on days like this, when the word ‘home’ is teased over his head like so, he wonders the validity in that. Both in the thought and the prospect. It’s comforting to know that he won’t be fighting forever- that one day he’ll be able to sleep at night without fearing for his life. But then there’s also the fact that he doesn’t really have a home to sleep safely in, and the thought leaves Keith frowning. His question was one that could never be answered in a satisfactory way, which he knew because he’d only asked himself a million or so times. But it’s still upsetting anyway; the fact that Shiro doesn’t have something new or helpful regarding the matter of them fighting a war everyday, never truly knowing where they were headed. 

“Do you think of home?” Keith asks instead of sharing his concerns, because he supposes that if Shiro has an idea of home then maybe that place can be his too. He followed Shiro to space, so he wasn’t unwilling to follow him to wherever back on Earth, as well. 

“No, not really,” Shiro says, and it causes Keith to stare in slight disarray and even more disbelief.

“Really?” 

“There isn’t much to think of,” his brother admits, and Keith can’t help but be critical of this answer.

“So, you never think of where you're going to go after this whole thing is over?” Keith pulls his knees to his chest, and not for the first time he gets this juvenile feeling as he sits in front of Shiro. But that’s the way it’s always been- asking puerile questions to mature problems that can only really be answered by his brother, because somehow Shiro always has the right words to say. Well, almost always. 

For a while Takashi Shirogane just stares off in the distance, and then bleak black eyes meet Keith’s face to focus on the spot where Keith’s too-long fringe tickles the bridge of his nose, and it makes Keith wonder what it is that is causing Shiro to sulk and withhold his answers. But he knows better than to press and push and ask. If it’s too painful to say then perhaps it’s none of his business. And if Shiro decides it’s something he _does_ want to share, Keith would rather hear it come from his brother naturally. So he wrings his fingers and patiently awaits for a reply. 

“You know how Pidge installed Skype on all of our handhelds?” Shiro questions, and Keith slowly nods, wondering where this is going. “I can’t lie, I was so… excited. I know I don’t mention it often, if ever, but I do miss Earth. I miss the familiarity and comfort in it, I guess. Like, I went on all those space expeditions to do something bigger than me but now that I’ve gotten where I’ve always wanted to be I just want the routine back. But-but that’s besides the point. Point is, I was waiting all day to finally get a moment alone to make a call. 

“And just before you came in, I was ready to make a call but there wasn’t enough signal. And then I realized I couldn’t even remember my email, let alone my Skype login. But, thinking about it now, who would I even call? My parents are all the way in Japan and definitely don’t know how to video chat, assuming they’re even still around.” Shiro takes the opportunity to switch his gaze to somewhere else, and Keith watches as his shock of white bangs hang over his face in a way that matches his melancholy mood. “I think me not remembering _and_ not having any signal was a sign, honestly. Maybe there isn’t much of home outside of this. Maybe this is it…,” 

Keith can’t help but become upset at this, because how could Shiro say that? How could the evermore optimist that always saw the best in everything, the best in _him_ , just decide that there wasn’t a warm bed and hot meal waiting for him somewhere? Especially when he knew that Keith _didn’t_ have that, and hadn’t had that for a long time. 

“What do you mean?” he asks, trying his best to hold back his tongue from spilling the commentary that sits boiling under his skin.

“I’m saying that I’ve found my home here in space- with you and the team. And that’s enough. I don’t need to think about what else there is for me.” Shiro looks down at his cuticles, and Keith notices that they’re sitting on fingers that are pinching and gripping into the palm. So much so that Shiro’s skin is reddening at his hands, and somehow Shiro’s tight demeanor makes Keith go lax, like they’re a scale that must even out with one end opposite to the other. 

“What about Adam?” Keith inquires, because that’s what he’d really been getting at initially. He would never say as much, but to him Adam was the frame of the picture that was Shiro, and he couldn’t think of one without the other. He couldn’t imagine a time on Earth- hypothetically, once the dust has settled and guns have fired their last blast- with Shiro but no Adam. And he had assumed that Shiro thought this as well, even more so than Keith did. 

And yet Shiro looks startled, if not perplexed and confounded, and it causes Keith to wonder if perhaps he’s said the wrong thing. Perhaps he’s overstepped Shiro’s bounds? Maybe Shiro had been walking around eggshells regarding possibly coming home to the man he’d belonged to all those years ago because of the way they’d left things the last they’d seen each other? 

But that still didn’t explain why the black paladin looked so disoriented, as though he’d just entered a conversation that was in a language that didn’t exist. And Keith was sent for an even farther loop when Shiro actually replied. 

“Adam?” 

“Yeah… don’t you- well, I thought- you don’t ever think of coming back to him?” Keith speculates, and Shiro looks at him with eyes so empty and passive that Keith wonders if he’s talking to Shiro at all. 

“Adam…?” Shiro hums to himself, with furrowing eyebrows and a frown, as though he’s pondering over where he’s left his spare house key rather than his ex fiancé. As though he’s forgotten the man entirely. It’s such a strange sight that Keith thinks to himself that perhaps this is some sort of joke, or maybe Shiro _really_ doesn’t want to speak on the topic. 

Which of these things is actually the case Keith never really finds out, because while Shiro quietly thinks to himself, a fresh member of their crew peeks into Shiro’s room with bright eyes and a full voice. 

“Dinner is ready early, if you’re hungry, Shiro,” Hunk chimes in the doorway, one foot in the room and a hand on the wall. It doesn’t take long for him to pick up on Keith’s presence, as well, and Keith swears he sees his face drop a bit. “Oh, hey, Keith. Ready for dinner?” 

“Yeah, I’m starved,” Keith admits, which is more than slightly true. Hunk smiles, though it doesn’t reach his eyes, and it’s likely because they both know Keith isn’t coming to dinner. How could he? Keith is great at many things, but there’s a reason he was never a theater kid or even got a chance in seasonal school plays- he wasn’t much of an actor. So there was no way he could act as though everything was fine at the dinner table. Nor could he convince Hunk that he wasn't going to dip as soon as possible, so he didn’t even bother trying to be very discreet. 

His excuse was that he was going to make a stop at the bathroom before heading to the dining room, but when Shiro and Hunk left for dinner he passed right by the bathroom adjacent to Shiro’s quarters. As hungry as he was, he couldn’t sit at a table in front of his friends to play a game of pretend. So he headed elsewhere, for a much needed conversation. 

  
  


\- - 

  
  


It’s obvious enough to anyone with eyes that Keith isn’t much of a talker. He hasn’t been his whole life, and he’ll likely stay that way for the remainder of his natural-born time on Earth (or in space.) For as long as he’s himself, Keith will be quiet. Whether that’s by choice or simply how he’s been fixed by some other-worldly being, he isn’t sure. But Keith likes to believe that he’s simply a mellow person because he appreciates a tranquil atmosphere. 

However, there are moments when he likes his candle to be alit to bring him to the brightest of flames. It’s only to be expected of a hothead, and there’s really only one person who can bring that fire ablaze in a way that no one else can. Likely because that person isn’t really a ‘person.’

“I don’t know how I’m going to get myself out of this one, Red,” Keith mutters into his knees, his legs pinned up against his chest as he sits in the pilot’s seat inside the Red Lion’s cockpit. The red glow of the room’s lights flash across his face with some displaced warmth that he revels in, making the lion’s chamber feel like home more than ever, and he counts the creases in his suit as he tries to keep his current stressors from overwhelming him completely. “I mean, I thought I had everything handled. I usually do, don’t I?” 

He pauses, waiting for some sort of response from the sentient robot, and _tsks_ when he hears a ‘no,’ that’s much too honest for his taste, flickering across his mind. 

“Okay, so sometimes I like to go with the flow. And what’s wrong with that? I thought that’s what Lance and I were doing- just letting things be- but apparently that wasn’t good enough for him! _Apparently_ I’m dragging him along but I’m not, right?” Keith doesn’t really wait for an answer, knowing all too well that the Red lion will be completely honest with him. And he isn’t sure he can take the raw and bloody truth. So instead he surges on with his venting, and begins tugging at the chain around his neck holding the medallion he’d earned only mere hours ago. “But I guess this is all my fault, huh? I was going to tell him- I swear. I mean, I’d had everything all planned out with fireworks and giving him that ring but then- then that _other_ me had to ruin everything. And now- now I don’t know, Red. I mean, do I really love him? After everything he said last night maybe he’s right… maybe I’m not good to him at all and I’m just dragging him through the mud.”

Keith awaits Red’s inevitable response, but it never really comes. At least, not in words. Instead, he feels what comes to be soothing maternal gestures at the back of his mind, calming him a bit. It’s enough to help him relax a bit, and he leans back in the pilot chair. 

“I want to love him, you know. But I don’t think I can. I don’t think I know how,” he thinks aloud, and runs his fingers across the pearl hanging from the necklace about his neck. He thinks of how it’s supposed to represent a symbol of bravery, and nearly laughs at the irony in it. He can face a sinking boat and nearly drowning, or even put his life on the line to save his friends, but can’t figure out the minor details of love. Or, at the very least, figure out if he has what it takes to take care of the person he adores the most. 

He goes to ask Red what she thinks of the matter, because he has the feeling that she likely knows him better than he knows himself. If there was anyone who would know what his deep down thoughts were, he’d assume it’d be the being that resided at the back of his mind. Yet, for some reason unbeknownst to him, Red goes eerily quiet. He goes to question her abrupt radio silence, but he swiftly comes to know why when he hears the familiar sound of Red’s cockpit door opening. 

And there, in the doorway clad and clamored in blue armor, is Keith’s knight in dented armor with a dented attitude to match. 

“Lance,” Keith says, immediately standing, undeniably caught by surprise and unprepared for what he knows will likely happen next. Perhaps he should’ve been prepping for inevitably seeing the red paladin a little more, or maybe he should’ve put more effort into the avoiding-at-all costs- part. Because it’s pretty easy to say that not only is he unequipped for this situation, but he doesn’t even know what to do with himself, let alone what to say. Which means that while Lance scrutinizes Keith with his eyes, eyelids hovering to give him a bored and unappreciative look that contrasts Keith’s surprise and anxiety, Keith squirms under Lance’s gaze. 

Keith isn’t sure how long they stand there- with Lance taking him in and Keith waiting for a jurisdiction- but it feels like years. It feels like he’s meeting Lance for the first time all over again, but they’ve somehow switched positions. Somehow Lance has taken up the position of being the one with the penetrating glare and uneven frown, and he can’t say he likes this shift in their dynamic.

“What are you doing here?” Lance eventually spits after he’s assumed his final position of disdain, and Keith wonders what is it that he’s supposed to do in a situation like this. It’s obvious enough, based on Lance’s tone, that he isn’t happy to see Keith. But he can’t just leave; can he?

“I was just… talking to Red,” Keith explains, feeling stiff as he stands beside the pilot’s seat and Lance begins to walk across the cockpit past him. He wonders, for just a split second or two, if maybe Lance is crossing the room to hit him. But then Lance rips a backpack off his back and Keith watches as Lance begins to unload supplies, and he tries not to feel too guilty for being so nervous around the red paladin. 

“Right, well, this is my lion and I’d appreciate it if you didn’t just come in here like she’s still yours,” Lance says without looking in Keith’s direction, before pausing. “How _did_ you get in here, anyway?” 

“I-um, I still have my bond with her or whatever,” Keith answers sheepishly, feeling as though there’s probably something he should be doing right then. At least, something other than standing around helplessly. But at the same time, he couldn’t find the courage to move, let alone breathe, when he felt like he was only seconds away from upsetting Lance even further. 

“Oh right,” Lance scoffs. “I forget I’m just an over glorified seat warmer until you’re ready to take her back.” 

“Lance, you know that’s not true. You know-” 

“Don’t you have somewhere to be?” Lance cuts Keith off with precision and intent sharper than Keith’s blade, and it punctures him right in the heart harder than any needle or fang. But he’s determined, because he _does_ have somewhere to be. With Lance. The real question is whether or not Lance will let him stay. 

“What are you doing? Let me help,” Keith says instead of answering Lance’s initial request, and he brings his defenses down as he watches Lance do the same. He’s certain the red paladin is having a mental debate with himself (and losing) based on the way his face contorts and folds several times before inevitably showing resignation. He doesn’t say anything, but rather hands Keith a first aid kit, and Keith watches Lance load things into Red’s emergency storage compartment before getting the hint to do the same. 

For a long time things are silent, though the air is stiff and choking. It’s easy to imagine that there isn’t much difficulty in helping Lance store basic necessities in his lion, and yet there is. Keith can’t help but feel the bloated bubble of anxiety rocking in his stomach, unsettling all of the memories that sit along his gut. There’s hundreds, if not thousands, of moments with Lance that rest upon his stomach lining and they’re not easy to forget or ignore. Not when he’s sitting right next to him. 

Attempts are made of small talk when Keith asks if Lance ever got a chance to call his family, but they turn out to be somber when Lance informs him that there wasn’t a stable connection enough for him to do so, and the room’s atmosphere turns somber once more. 

Keith tries to endure the silence for what feels like years, but is likely to be no more than five minutes. It’s hard to tell, though, because apparently when you’re anticipating the worst time seems to stop. However long it was that Keith waited for Lance to speak up, though, it doesn’t matter. 

He sat there wondering when Lance was going to break the ice; they were both obviously thinking about the same thing. And yet the time never came, thus making him feel as though he shouldn’t even be there. Keith wasn’t one to feel like a burden because, more often than not, he was perfectly capable of holding his weight and being more useful than not. But in that moment, assisting Lance with such a mundane task didn’t feel like nearly enough. He quickly got the urge to speak up if only to be liberated from the shackles of the unknown. Pretending as though everything was okay and wondering what Lance was truly thinking was unbearable and, with Lance decisively being as quiet as a church mouse, it was clear that Keith was going to have to be the one to open up their haphazardly closed can of worms. 

Until it wasn’t. It happened so quickly that Keith was left trying to catch his breath all over again, and he realized that maybe Lance was always two steps ahead of him. Or maybe he was just two steps behind. But the scene went a little something like this:

Keith was just trying his best to assist Lance, handing him things from his bag or shoving things in the small storage space. But then, like some awkward scene out of a Hallmark movie or Disney Channel Original, Keith and Lance reached for the same jar of medicine to store away and their hands grazed. It was just for a split second, because within the next Keith had snatched his hand away, but that’s all it took. It was that burning touch that gave Keith that familiar feeling that he had such a love-hate relationship with, and Lance caught onto it so quickly it was like he was just waiting for it to happen. Waiting, _praying_ , on it like a sacred sign from God that was so desperately needed. And he got exactly what he was looking for. Lance didn’t have to say it- his deep brown eyes gave him away like always. Those eyes held up the universe, both outside the castle ship and inside his heart. Which meant that Keith always had something to read in those eyes, and in that moment he read the recognition. 

_He knows I’m back._

So then it became a waiting game, round two, and it was ten times more powerful and painful. Now the question hanging in the air wasn’t ‘when’s he going to say something?’, it turned into ‘how is he going to react?’ Which, believe it or not, was a whole lot worse. 

And Keith couldn’t sit there waiting with anticipation, or dread, for Lance to speak up. So the Hallmark movie ended and the thriller/drama double-feature began, and Keith spoke with all the fire he could muster from his burning lungs. 

“Aren’t you going to say something?” He doesn’t mean for his words to come out with a sting, but he can’t help the fire that’s leaping straight from his heart and out of his chest, let alone rolling off his tongue. 

“About what?” Lance says, matching his attitude, and Keith seems to get burned on his own flame. 

“About… about me getting my memories back?” he tries, and he hates how pathetic he sounds. But he hates Lance’s answer even more. 

“What’s there talk about?” There’s indifference in his voice, and Keith recognizes it as even more dangerous than anger or dissatisfaction. 

“I don’t know I just- aren’t we supposed to talk about it? I mean, don’t you care?” Keith feels like an idiot, or even worse, a child, for scrambling to try to get something out of Lance. He’s grasping at straws trying to get somewhere in hopes to come to a place- a _destination_ \- but each time he comes up short. And at this point, he isn’t sure there’s many options left. 

“I said everything I had to say last night, and you’ve made it pretty obvious you haven’t changed your mind about...about _us_ since you’ve been avoiding me all day. So what is there left to talk about, Keith?”

“I haven’t been avoiding you, Lance,” Keith lies, but is able to choke down the guilt because there’s a little bit of truth in it. “I’ve just been trying to figure out what to say. But I can’t find the words.” 

“Well I certainly don’t have them,” Lance scoffs, adjusting his position beside the old black paladin. “I’ve been trying to find the right words to say to you since we were teenagers and I still haven’t found them, so you’re asking the wrong person.” 

Keith can’t help but wince at this a little bit, and feels even more helpless when Lance averts his gaze in response. But what does one say to that? To being told that the answer he’s looking for doesn’t exist?

“Look, Keith,” Lance tries again. “As much as I’d love to sit here and try to convince you that we could work- because I _know_ we could- the only person who can convince you is yourself. You won’t even let me in.” 

“I thought I did,” Keith argues, feeling a little breathless as the weight settles on his shoulders and the gravity of things comes down on him. _Haven’t I? Isn’t that what I’ve been doing? Allowing you to chip away at me piece by piece up until now?_ “I thought- I thought that’s what we were doing. I thought you knew how much I cared about you and that that was enough. I didn’t think you’d want more, that you’d _need_ more. I thought you understood that there’s no-no fucking _more_ in space. In the middle of a war, Lance.” 

Keith doesn’t verbalize any of it, but there’s so many thoughts that come to his head right then. He thinks of how he thought that he and Lance were always on the same page, or at least the same chapter. But as it turns out they’re entirely different books. And at that point, he can’t be certain they’re even of the same _genre._

“But-,” Lance seems to rethink his words, going through that internal debate once more, before pushing past whatever reservations he was initially feeling and giving in. “You _know_ that’s not true. I’m here, you’re here, and as long as we have that what does it matter that we’re in the middle of nowhere in some random galaxy light years away from everything we’ve ever known? There’s no rules for being stuck in an intergalactic war with a bunch of wannabe Power Rangers and alien furries. We just have to make it up as we go. And if there _were_ rules I’d break them as long as I could be with you.”

“Why?” Keith whispers, so quiet he isn't even sure he actually said anything. But whether or not he’s actually spoken, the doubt is still lingering out in the open for Lance to see. Keith doubts the truths in these words, the validity in such an admission, and he wonders about this side of Lance. About this all-or-nothing, pull-never-push of his kind soldier. Why is he so strong and sure in his feelings for a man who’s never said ‘I love you’ back? How can he be so confident in _anything_ , let alone Keith? 

“You know why,” Lance whispers back with a frown and a deep sigh. “You’ve had me since the day you met me. I’ve opened up my heart to you so many times it’s yours now. You _know_ that. You know that no matter how you come to me- whether you remember me or hate me or love me I’m going to love you. I’ve written these words down for you… I know you know this. But I’m starting to think you’re just never going to believe me.” 

“I-,” Keith has to pause for a moment, because the tears that are running down his face without his consent are starting to blur his vision and cause his chest to close in. So he sits up straight to try to find his bearings, and clears his throat while in search of the words that are never really there. “I don’t doubt you. I know that you love me, but that’s what scares me. It scares me that you care so much for me when we’re both just one stray bullet from dying, Lance. When- when you told me how messed up you were after Naxzela I didn’t know what to think, and that was before I even remembered you, Lance. I can’t stand the thought of you being hurt because you care about me that deeply. And this weekend when I saw you half gone in Hunk’s arms I…,”

Keith can’t continue, but he doesn’t really need to. Though Keith and Lance aren’t on the same page about certain things, Lance has still always got a bookmark paged for his former leader on other things. And right then, Lance has a perfect hold on where Keith is griping. 

“We promised we’d protect each other and, in case you haven’t noticed, I meant that shit,” Lance informs Keith, his voice soggy and drooping at the ends like a wet tuna sandwich. And it makes Keith gag a little. He hates that Lance is this soft and tired with him. He wishes that he would just give up on him, because somehow being given up on is more familiar and comfortable- and therefore less scary- than being loved. 

“I know, and that’s what worries me.” Keith takes a deep breath in, before deciding that he needs to deliver his usual final blow. He’s used to telling Lance all the reasons they can never be; Lance is determined and Keith is stubborn. But for some reason, this time, he feels weak and the words he wants to say don’t feel real. They feel like an excuse, and he fears that if he doesn’t say these things quickly he’ll forget why he’s denying himself of happiness to begin with, but he chokes as they get stuck halfway up his throat. 

Keith dives in a pool of words hoping for a sentence to come out in the end, but everything just feels like automated rubbish coming from his mouth. They aren’t his words at this point, and he knows this. He knows that everything he’s been saying isn’t for the sake of saving the universe, or even for saving Lance. It’s for saving himself the pain he’s been running from since he was a child, and he wonders if being a soldier is supposed to be this exhausting. Is supposed to hurt this much. Is supposed to cause this much pain when you see the red paladin looking away to hide his tears. 

Keith stares at Lance’s hung head and tries to find it in him to explain, but it isn’t there, and unexpectedly Lance speaks up. 

“I’m sorry, I…I told myself I wasn’t going to go through this again. That I wasn’t going to try to convince you of something you’re already so dead set on. I want to respect your boundaries and… I don’t want you to feel like you owe me anything. You don’t. I just so badly wanted to be wrong last night. I wanted to believe you and for you to be right about your feelings staying the same, no matter how you remembered me,” Lance explains with a frown, and rubs tears away from his reddening face. “But… I guess you’ve never really been the type to change your mind about these sorts of things, huh?”

“Lance, you know it’s not that simple.”

“Isn’t it though?” Lance argues, his back going stick-straight as he sits up and looks at Keith with all the focus and precision of a laser. “Things have always been so black and white to you. It’s always your way or no way, yes or no. You always take risks and do whatever you want, so why is this any different? Why is it that you’re willing to risk your life but when it comes to taking a leap of faith for us it’s so hard?” 

Keith chews at his lip before shaking his head, and forces himself to look away because he knows from the way that his eyes burn that tears are inevitable, and he doesn’t want Lance to see. “I don’t know- I don’t know what I’m doing here Lance. I’m just trying my best.” 

“And I’m not? I don’t know what I’m doing, but I’m trying to take things one day at a time. And today I want you. And I’ve wanted you everyday for the past three years.” Keith can’t seem to catch his breath, and Lance isn’t exactly making it any easier. “You know this, Keith. You’ve known this for the longest time, so why do you act like I’m not right here?” 

“Because!” Keith shouts with a voice that isn’t his, and pain that he wishes wasn’t his. “Because it’s not just about me. Or you! I-I didn’t think you’d want more from me, Lance. I thought you understood that what we’ve had all this time was just going to have to be enough because we have to put- I don’t fucking know- the universe first? There can’t be a you and me because it isn’t about us.” 

“So, what, because we have obligations we can’t be happy? That’s bull and you know it.”

“Lance, you almost died over the weekend. And I didn’t know what to do- I felt like _I_ was dying. We can’t have that kind of relationship where we’re constantly worrying about one another when there’s billions of other people we’re supposed to put first.” _I don’t trust myself to think clearly when I’m always thinking of you. How am I supposed to always make the right decision when I know I’ll choose you every time?_

“What about you, Keith?” Lance asks, finally looking up to set his gravy eyes to meet navy colored ones. There’s something salty and savory about Lance- like the tears that pool at his eyes- and it’s so different to his usual sweet undertones that it leaves the young Kogane on edge. “What do you want?” 

_I want you. It’s always been you, I have never not wanted you._

“It doesn’t matter what I want,” Keith says instead of the admissions he’s thinking. He swallows the words he’s thinking, because he knows it’s not his duty to be open or real. It’s his duty to protect the universe and, based on the promises twelve-year-old Keith made to himself, it’s his duty to protect himself. Even if that means ignoring his strumming heart in favor of his throbbing brain. 

“Okay…,” Lance sighs as Keith stands, and Keith expects Lance to do the same but the paladin just sits there and pulls his knees to his chest. 

“Lance…,” Keith starts without really knowing what he’s trying to say. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for you to feel like this, I just thought you’d-”

“It’s okay,” Lance interrupts, sprouting up to stand in front of Keith suddenly. He offers him a remarkably clear and straight gaze, eyes clear and fixed, and Lance smiles in spite of himself. “I knew going into this what would happen and I let it happen anyway. I… shouldn’t have taken advantage of your situation like that. But I hate this. I hate this feeling. I hate going through this with you everytime you give me a reason to think you feel the same way I do only for you to turn around and tell me you don’t. I feel like an idiot.” 

“You’re not an idiot Lance.” Keith doesn’t know how to tell Lance that he’s the one that feels like an idiot, too. That he’s the one that feels stupid every time they play this game, because it always feels like he’s lost something he’s never had. 

“Then why won’t you be honest with me? You keep telling me the same thing- the same priority bullshit for the past two years or so- but I know it’s not true. I know you don’t really think that, Keith, so what is it that you’re so scared of? Is it me? Are you afraid I’m going to hurt you or something?” Lance exclaims while rubbing away at his face so aggressively that Keith can see an eyelash fall from his lid and onto his cheek, and his nose burns a brighter red than the lights of Red’s interior. 

“Lance I don’t...,”

“Say it. Tell me you don’t love me.”

“Lance it’s-I can’t- I don’t-” 

“You don’t love me, right? Go ahead and tell me that you climb into my bed in the middle of the night and tell me about your nightmares and Shiro and your dad and your mom and all the ways you’ve been screwed over because we’re just teammates. Tell me you listen to my insecurities and how much I miss my family and how I’m scared of fucking dying everyday, tell me you’re always there for me, because we’re friends. Cause that’s all we are, right? Just good friends?”

“Lance, please. You know I-I can’t..., I can’t do this.” 

Lance pauses. 

“I know you love me, Keith. Or something close to it. And I know you have a hard time saying it and that’s okay. I mean, that’s what I thought. I’ve been willing to wait until you’re ready, I’m willing to wait forever for you. But I can’t wait forever for something that’s never going to happen. So tell me now am I waiting for something that I’m never going to see? Are you...are you ever going to love me the way I love you?” 

Keith searches Lance’s eyes for something he can’t find. Something new for him to hold onto, as a sign for what to do next, and when he sees it it scares him so badly he nearly chokes. So he finds himself coming to the conclusion that if he doesn’t leave soon, he won’t be able to. Because everything in him is telling him to stay, and he isn’t sure how long he can go on ignoring that deep down part of him that’s growing. That part of him that’s full of that _something_ that he sees in Lance’s eyes. 

“Goodbye, Lance,” he breathes rather than says, because he’s not really capable of speaking right then. Not when Lance is letting him leave so easily, because he knows he’s already gone. 

\- -

There’s an immeasurable list of responsibilities tied to Keith Kogane for him to be somebody who’s never even gone to prom or used an ATM. Lance has always been the one holding up the universe, but Keith has a world of his own that he finds hard to manage. And while it’s not quite the same as what he sees behind the red paladin’s pupils, he thinks it might be just as trying. 

Keith likes to think of himself as strong, but during the weeks that follow his last conversation with Lance, he isn’t so sure. His world is on fire, and he’s lost on an extinguisher for such an event. So when he exits the castleship, Lance’s words still on his mind as he boards his cruiser and heads to the nearest Blade base, things seem to catch fire. And everything just crumbles under after. 

By the time Keith finally meets with Kolivan to debrief the details of his current condition and to update on the things he missed while he was gone, it seems that Kolivan has taken Keith’s time off to deliberate on things without the former paladin’s say on the matter. 

“Your time with the Voltron team has been thus far respected as a formal matter of human necessity and envoy,” Kolivan reports, in his usual robotic voice that’s lacking in every corner. It comes to be fitting, as Keith isn’t sure he deserves any hints of sympathy or emotion at that point. Not after the things he’d said and done that weekend. “But when I initially allowed for such an arrangement, it came with the expectation and condition that this would not cause a disruption in your schedule. After much delegation with your superiors, I’ve come to the conclusion that your time with your former teammates is not worth the interference with your obligations. You missed a very important mission that required your attendance and we can’t have such a risk as a part of this organization. If you are to uphold your position, it is expected that your scheduled visits with the Voltron team comes to a cease until further notice.” 

It takes all of Keith’s strength not to shake so hard his bones rattle, and he has to ball his hands into tightly bound fits to keep them at his sides. 

“Understood,” he manages, just barely, and wonders if the room is actually on fire or if it’s just him that’s burning up. He considers maybe it’s normal to be so lava hot and ice cold at the same time, before second guessing this preposition. Before second guessing his own feelings of a fever and shivers at the same time. 

“Dismissed,” Kolivan says after what appears to be an eternity, and Keith can’t flee to his room and slam into his bed quickly enough. 

Normally he dreads his uncomfortable bottom bunk in such a closed, shared space. But for the first time, it feels like a safe haven. And for the first time in a very, _very_ long time, he lets everything go. He doesn’t do Shiro’s stupid breathing exercises. He doesn’t try to hold up a universe that was never his to begin with. He just lets everything go, and by the time he’s called to his next mission his pillow is wet and his Mamorite suit is sticking to his body from sweat. 

“Keith,” his roommate calls from her top bunk when he’s finally dried himself out of tears and silent sobs. He shivers at the sound, and it takes him a minute to remember where he even is. To remember that his room isn’t _actually_ a safe haven. “What troubles you, little one?” 

“Nothing, Somansi,” he answers quickly before pulling on his hood and deciding that he doesn’t have the energy to talk about the things that makes his head throb and that _something_ he can't get rid of. “Everything's okay.” 

Things weren’t okay, obviously, but Keith decided he’d have to make due. He wasn’t able to see Lance, or any of his teammates, and it definitely wore on him when he began to feel as though he had nothing to look forward to. But at the same time, he decided it was for the best. Without him thinking of trying to find his way to his friends as soon as possible, he was able to throw himself into his missions at full force. He didn’t have to worry about being fussed over about fresh bruises or burns, and he could return to his room at night without having to think of what to text to Lance or the others. 

Kolivan hadn’t confiscated his handheld, though he might as well have, considering Keith somehow managed to leave it back at the castle ship and he wasn’t going to get it back anytime soon. It worried him, initially, before he came to the conclusion that it was likely for the best. Any communication with his old teammates would only remind him of the paladin he desperately needed time away from, and he couldn’t bear the thought of a discussion regarding his sudden departure without a proper goodbye. It made things easier, really, for him to not have to worry about what everyone might have to say to him about everything that happened. With Lance, with his memories, with him leaving the team and yet still acting as though he belonged. 

It was too much to think about, and so he was glad that his phone was one less thing to think about. There wasn’t any room in his mind to consider the remainder of his friends. Not when Lance’s words were on his mind constantly. 

‘ _Why is it that you’re willing to risk your life but when it comes to taking a leap of faith for us it’s so hard?’_

The truth is, Keith doesn’t know. And that's what keeps him up at night. He’d initially believed that he had a justifiable reason for holding Lance at arm’s length. He wanted him close, as much as possible without them ever really meeting in the middle, which meant night excursions but professionalism in the light of day. That meant meaningful glances and conversations, or less meaningful jokes and playful jabs, but never anything incriminating. Never anything that would truly give himself away. And he thought that this made sense for the sake of others.

What could be made of two soldiers in love when their priority was supposed to be the task at hand? With the task at hand being the ongoing war, because war was _always_ the task at hand. That had been the life Keith had been living for years, and he didn’t think it held the room for Lance that he wanted. He couldn’t save the world if Lance _was_ his world, so he tried to minimize his feelings and gulp them down like hot cider by the fireplace during a crisp autumn evening. He thought that was the most logical answer to the situation and he’d assumed Lance would understand. 

Apparently not. 

Apparently his own heart didn’t get the memo, either. 

‘ _What are you so afraid of?’_

Lance had always had a knack for hitting the nail on the coffin, because that question left Keith reeling. What _was_ he afraid of? Of the hurt, of the pain, of the risks? 

On nights after missions, Keith thinks of the conversations with Lance that he’d had in the dark of night with their hands grappling for one another to hold eachother down, and their words book binding their hearts to the other’s. He thinks maybe he’s scared of that vulnerability. He’s scared of feeling that comfortable with someone, because he can’t be sure he deserves such a privilege. He can’t quite be sure what he’ll be like if he gets used to something like that. He’d learned so long ago that familiarity, an anchor, is a privilege. And now he was just supposed to unlearn that because a certain tall, brown eyed, not-so-stranger was trying to unravel and break down that side of him?

These are the questions that keep him up at night for hours. They're the ones that distract him on his away missions, or cause him to spend hours on end in the training room in an attempt to distract himself from his problems. There’s only so many ways to escape these thoughts and feelings, though. 

As hard as Keith tried to run from his fears of Lance, he could only go so far without being forced to face a rude awakening. And, unfortunately for him, that awakening came in the form of a certain roommate, followed by a very small paladin. 

A little over a month since Keith had last visited the Castle of Lions, he was sent on a simple intel mission with his roommate, Somansi, and two other Blade members who he couldn’t be bothered to think about much. Ever since Kolivan had pretty much grounded him, taking away his visiting privileges with his fellow paladins, a less-than-pretty rumor had started circling around with his fellow spies that Keith wasn’t in Kolivan’s graces and had made a spectacle of himself due to some weekend excursions with a certain paladin. Apparently there was even speculation that Keith had nearly gotten himself kicked out of the base, which he didn’t _entirely_ doubt. Not that it mattered either way. Upon realizing that he was the otherwise boring base’s conversation starter of the month, he’d decided to do his best to limit his interactions and keep his head low as often as possible. 

This included during missions and meetings, meaning half of the time he wasn’t even fully aware of who it was that he was stuck on ships and battle cruisers with. He was just lucky to get stuck with Somansi on certain missions- the one person he knew he could count on, considering her overall phlegmatic attitude made her into an unlikely gossip. On this particular mission, though, she turned out to be more talkative than usual. 

The ride to their assigned undertaking was long, considering that they were cut into two teams with the smallest cruisers, holding less power and smaller engines. Which left much to be desired. Keith usually sat in silence during these long periods, looking over his assignment list one last time and rechecking stats and stocks. This particular afternoon, he spent his time putting the Galran station map to memory to ensure he had his path padlocked in his brain. But in the midst of this, his roommate spoke up from her seat beside him and he offered her one of his signature arched eyebrows. 

“You are tired,” she said, so clear-cut and open that he was honestly taken aback. Something he’d learned a long time ago, when he first became a member of the Mamorite organization and realized that these spies were a breed of their own in some way, was that Momoran members were blunt. At times this was unappreciated, such as when his peers regularly told him that he looked like shit after a particularly long mission or when members questioned his height and heritage without an ounce of empathy. But sometimes this candid attitude helped things that Keith was shelving come into the light. And in that moment Keith needed to admit that maybe he was pushing himself well past his limits. 

“I’m fine, Somansi,” Keith lied while checking to make sure their coms were off, doing his best to empty his voice of any signs of… well, anything. He couldn’t stand the thought of anyone, let alone his _roommate_ , seeing what was really going on with him. He didn’t even want to imagine it. 

“When I was your age,” Somansi tells him without any prompting, her long tail making a swishing sound as it sweeps across the metal of their cruiser’s cockpit. “I was banished from my tribe for revealing my heritage. I passed for a full native, but …well, I began looking more and more like my father each day and when my mother admitted to how I was conceived I could no longer live with my people. I had to travel many years as a refugee and became a slave to the Galran coalition. Until a group of spies freed me and trained me to join the Blade. To gain back the life that was taken from me… to do good.” 

Keith isn’t sure why Somansi is telling him this, though he doesn’t dare think of interrupting her. It’s the most she’s ever said to him at once, and he can’t deny that he’s interested in what it is she has to say. 

“But it was hard to do good at first. I could not sleep for many nights; I was terrified of the things I dreamt of and trusted no one. I went on for a very long time not making much progress in my training due to my inability to see anyone as a true ally. And I was so tired, my head was never clear.” She coughs in the middle of this, and Keith urges her to continue with his eyes. Although he isn’t sure he can stand to hear what it is that she has to say. Though he doesn’t know whether or not her conclusion will be something he actually wants to hear. “It took time, but eventually I was able to improve when I opened up to somebody. Many years ago I told my roommate- Larifi- the things that troubled me and she helped me get through them. It made me realize that I wasn’t alone; that I didn’t need to have up my walls because having her help made me better. It was a lot easier to do things after that, even after she died. I saw… I saw that even though my people betrayed me, I still had people elsewhere.” 

The silence that follows Somansi’s words are chilling, and so Keith takes the moment as an opportunity to question her. 

“So, what? I should open up to you?” he questions. 

“No,” Somansi answers quickly. “My allegiance isn’t with you, it’s to the rebellion. Plus, you snore. I am not your people. But I know that you have people out there, and I know you think of them. I have seen that you are without sleep, and train for many hours each day. I assume it’s because Kolivan’s new ban against you seeing them is what troubles you.”

“Something like that,” Keith admits. “But it’s not because I miss them. They’re not _my people_ anymore.” _He’s not mine anymore._

“I doubt that,” Somansi says with a quizzical look on her face. “There is much talk of the paladin that called Kolivan’s personal communicator in search of you. It has been the greatest talk of the food commissary for several consecutive movements, I’m surprised this does not move you. If someone called Kolivan for me, I would be quite touched.” 

Keith watches as Somansi does one of her half-laughs, which are only really laughs to someone who knows that Somansi rarely even smiles. But this- her words and her openness with him- _does_ move him. Enough so to push him to the edge of his seat and cause his dark eyes to go wide. 

“You, uh, you wouldn’t happen to know which paladin it is that called Kolivan, would you?” Keith does a poor job of masking the desperation in his voice, but at that point he doesn’t care. He can’t deny himself of what he’s been feeling any longer. He’s sure that if it’s Lance that called Kolivan he’ll split right down the middle, as he’ll be so torn about what to do. How could he not run to Lance after hearing this news? After hearing the extent to which Lance is willing to go just to hear from him again? But, at the same time, abandoning his mission would definitely get him kicked out of the Blade and what would he do then? He isn’t sure, so maybe it’s a good thing that Somsansi isn’t able to give him an answer. 

“Unfortunately I am without details. Kolivan has been quite cagey about the occurrence to avoid causing a distraction, especially to you. I’m sure he’d act as though it didn’t happen at all had it not transpired in the middle of a meeting in front of several delegates.” Again, Somansi does one of her quick chuckles that just barely pass for a laugh, before weaving her fingers together and sighing. “The only reason I speak of this, however, is to inform you that you are not alone. Your troubles are noted, and I hope that the knowledge that there are those that care for your wellbeing is a comfort. As much as I enjoy not having to hear you snore these past few movements, I would prefer knowing that you rest easy.” 

Keith smiles, mirroring Somansi by the face, and nods gratefully. “Thank you, Somansi.” 

Keith is genuinely appreciative of his bunker mate doing her best to improve his mood and condition, even though it isn’t exactly her forte. Yet a part of Keith wishes she hadn’t told him anything. After their talk, all he can think of is which paladin it is that called Kolivan on his behalf. He doesn’t believe it to be Lance but… what if it was? 

For the remainder of the assignment, the former red paladin can’t help but be inattentive, even when his mindfulness is of utmost importance, which comes at a cost.

It took a bit more work, and a lot more time than Keith had accounted for, but the necessary intel was gathered and several bombs were planted- leading to a Galran harbor that would blow up by the time Keith and his crew had made an exit just by the skin of their teeth and the hairs of their nape. 

Although, in between the success of this mission, Keith nearly came close to losing both his and Somansi’s life. While the other two spies they had traveled with hacked into the harbor’s servers, Somansi planted bombs behind several buildings with Keith’s assistance. But at some point he supposes he must’ve completely lost focus, because one minute the coast was clear while in the next they were narrowly missing lasers. 

He’s lucky, he supposes, that he had Somansi as a teammate rather than anyone else. She’s the only one he can think of that can take a blaster bullet to the leg and still make it out alive, finding a path to help them back to their cruiser.

He isn’t sure how the remainder of the teammates were able to get out unscathed, let alone complete their assignment, but he feels eternally grateful when they regroup and everyone is well, save for a few injuries. It isn’t until he's back aboard their spacecraft that he even fully recognizes that he was hit in the abdomen. Not that it matters much- all he can think of in that moment is how guilty he feels for being the world’s crappiest lookout. Though his fellow spies don’t seem to hold it against him too much. 

“There’s a local rebel base not far from here,” one of the Blade members explained. “We can stop there on our way back to the base, I’m sure they have the healing equipment that we require.” 

“I can’t stop for long,” Keith replies into the communicator, avoiding eye contact with the alien sitting next to him out of guilt. “I have another mission in a little over a varga, I’ll slimy make it as it is.” 

So in the end Keith stops with his fellow members at a local base, but only to drop off Somansi considering she’s in much more dire need of assistance than anyone. 

“I’m sorry,” Keith says as he helps her out of their shared cruiser and to a medic center. “I should’ve done better back there, I’ve just been distracted.”

“It is alright,” she sighs while nursing her leg, hopping along as the remaining Blade members come to her aid. “I have long ago learned to forge past resentment. It is useless to me. But just remember what I told you. I have a feeling that your paladins can assist you in being less… distracted.” 

Keith doesn’t get a chance to argue with her, because soon after this she’s being whisked away and tended to, and Keith is realizing he needs to get going soon if he’s to make it back in time for his next mission. Not that he would argue with her, anyway. 

After weeks without seeing his friends, his _family_ , he knows her to be right. And after years of denying himself of the things he truly wants, there’s no use in acting as if he hasn’t been in denial all this time. 

And he’s got what he’s always wanted, right? Now that Kolivan has put him back at square one, unable to see the people he cares about as though he’s back to that period of time before he missed death by just half a breath. He’s back to only having Lance at the back of his mind instead of right in front of him. He’s back to imagining what it would be like to have Hunk’s cooking for breakfast instead of the practical astronaut food at the base, or what it’d be like to train with Shiro at the castle instead of in a cramped room full of strangers that are too tall or too foreign to even _imagine_ challenging in combat- real or not. He’s back to thinking of Pidge and Coran and wondering what trouble they’re getting themselves into. He’s back to contemplating on what Lance is thinking about at night, and not being able to slip into his room to ask. He’s back to the beginning. 

Or maybe this is worse than the beginning; it’s the beginning of the end. Because isn’t this the final destination? He’s made a full loop back to where he started, and this is where the race for something better ends. He’d tried so hard to do what’s right while having it all- having the relationships he’d built while upkeeping his responsibilities, along with whatever the hell he had going on with Lance- that he’d gotten himself into a position that he couldn’t imagine getting out of. Who knew how long Kolivan would put him on a Voltron ban, and even after that would Lance even want to talk to him? After he’s already said goodbye and practically lied to his face? 

Keith and Lance had fought several times about this exact topic- about why Keith was inconsistent, about why he seemed to come and go because he didn’t know how to stay, about why they could never work. But this time around it felt different. This time around it felt permanent. This time around Keith wasn’t even sure why he was lying at that point, because even he knew for a fact that they were capable of figuring things out together. This time Keith had already said I love you, just a few hours before their last conversation. But only Keith knew that those words had been sincere. 

Still, Keith wonders about which paladin called Kolivan. Who could it have been? He doesn’t think that Lance would want to talk to him, or have anything to do with him really, but maybe… well, maybe he’d had a change of heart on some things. Or maybe he was willing to pretend as though nothing had happened between them at all, and just wanted them to be friends. Keith didn’t know which of those possibilities made his head hurt more, so he decided it must’ve been one of his other friends if not the red paladin. But which one? 

He’s wondering this while he rides back to the Blade base, wrapping himself in gauze and bandages and medicinal creams to help with his latest injuries, when his cruiser’s communicator begins to fizzle and pop until the monitor’s holographics turn on and he sees a clear image of the green paladin in front of him.

“Pidge?” he all but shrieks, wondering if he’s maybe seeing things due to the lack of sleep or the surplus of stress that had been weighing on him for the past month. Quickly he’s able to deduce that it’s not delirium he’s suffering from, because no imaginary Pidge could yell at him quite like the real one.

“Do you know how hard it’s been to track you down? Where the heck have you been?!” she barks, and he has to avert contact to keep from reddening in embarrassment. 

“Missions? Training? It’s kind of my job to keep busy,” Keith answers, picking at the material of his suit where he’s peeled it away to tend to his wounds. “How are you even calling me right now? This is a private signal.” 

“Who cares about _that_ , Kogane? I’m trying to figure out why you haven’t been answering any of my texts. Have you even _looked_ at your handheld since you left? Or are you just purposely trying to drive me crazy?” she continues to interrogate, ignoring the way Keith fidgets in his seat, and he shrugs. 

“I don’t have it, I think I lost it back at the castle.”

“That explains a lot,” she observes. “Well, what about Kolivan saying you’re ‘prohibited from affiliation with the Voltron team until further notice?’” She says the last part in air quotes and a slightly impressive Kolivan imitation, and Keith would laugh if it wasn’t for his confusion.

“You’ve talked to him?” 

“Well, yeah,” she says. “After you didn’t make your last visitation, I _may_ or may not have hacked into the Blade server and gave him a piece of my mind. Which Hunk says was awesome of me by the way, despite Shiro basically grounding me.”

“So it was you who called him,” Keith sighs, unable to mask the disappointment he feels. He can’t quite say he had high hopes as far as the lengths Lance might go to speak to him again, but there was still that small part of him that hoped. 

“Um, yeah. What, were you hoping somebody else was trying to reach you?” Pidge laughs. Keith isn’t quick enough at denying this, considering he can’t really bring himself to lie to Pidge after already spending so much time lying to himself, and Pidge is quickly able to catch on to the situation. “Hey, he misses you too ya know.”

“I don’t- no he doesn’t.” Keith shakes his head before pulling his Blade suit back into its original place on his body, and toys around with his suit’s fastening. “And even if he did, I’m banned from seeing him and I have a million missions scheduled that I can’t miss unless I want to get booted from the organization altogether.” 

At this Pidge goes silent, and Keith squints as he watches her fidget with her glasses. 

“About that…,” Pidge starts, taking her glasses off and pushing them into her hair before hunching her shoulders upward until she’s made herself even smaller than usual. “I may have hacked into your guys’ server again and switched your ID code from K909506 to K909507.”

“Meaning what?” Keith inquires, unsure of her intentions. 

“ _Meaning_ that it’s actually whoever the hell I switched your ID code with that has a mission within the next hour instead of you. So _now_ you have a couple free hours to come visit the castle and… maybe talk to Lance?” 

“I’m sorry, _what_?” Keith snaps. 

“Look, don’t get mad,” Pidge answers swiftly. “It’s just, you _need_ to talk to him. I mean, the guy’s been listening to sad songs in his room in his free time. I’m pretty sure I’ve heard Adele and Christina Perri’s entire discography playing from his room at this point.” 

“That sucks and all, but I can’t Pidge. I can’t forgo my duties here just because Lance is down in the dumps. He’s not my responsibility.” Keith almost immediately bites his tongue after saying this, and reaches for the necklace gifted to him by the Junnigee royalty that still hangs about his throat. He thinks of his promise he’d made to Lance- the promise that they’d look out for one another- and he bites his tongue so hard he begins to taste iron. 

“Dude, no offense, but you two need to get your shit together. I don’t know what happened between you two, but I’m going to assume based on the way you just left without saying goodbye that you guys broke up for whatever fucking reason. And I’m not going to say you’re obligated to be with him but, God, just be honest with him,” she says quickly, running a hand through the short tufts of hair that hang at the back of her head. “Yesterday he was so torn up we couldn’t even form Voltron. If it wasn’t for Lotor coming through for us shit would’ve gotten real messy. We can’t go on like this.” 

Keith doesn’t bother informing Pidge that him and Lance were never actually together to begin with, deciding that it’s not really any of her business and the entire situation is much too complicated for him to explain anyway. Instead, he decides to tackle the last part of her lecture. 

“Wait, what? You guys found Lotor?” 

“Yeah…,” she says, scratching at the back of her hand. “A lot’s happened since you left. Look, just get your ass over here and we can worry about everything else later.” 

“I don’t know…,” Keith hesitates. The opportunity to see Lance again is enough to make his heart leap out of his chest and into his throat. Maybe it’s all those things he’s swallowed coming back up as bile, or maybe it’s the butterflies in his stomach soaring high and free. He can’t be sure and he can’t say it matters much to him, either. He wants to see Lance either way. But he can’t be sure that this is the right way to go about things. 

What if him coming around will only make things worse? What if Kolivan finds out about his whereabouts and it only makes things worse? What if he doesn’t have the words he needs? What if-?

“Keith,” Pidge sighs. “I can’t stand to see Lance hurting like this. And based on the way you look like shit right now, I’m going to guess you’re not doing all that great yourself. So… I’m doing this because I love you.” 

At this, Pidge’s connection cuts out and in turn all of the monitors of his ship turn from the Blade’s signature purples to a bright green. 

“What the fuck did she do,” Keith breathes to himself, quickly checking his cruiser’s stats only to realize he’s been locked out of the mainframe and the craft has been set to a new course. Headed towards a signal signature he’d recognize anywhere; the Castle of Lions. “Pidge, you are in so much fucking trouble…”

He knows he’s not there to hear him, and it’s a good thing he eventually decides because Lord knows he doesn’t mean it. 

After his initial panic, and several minutes of trying to log back into the firewall, he comes to the conclusion that Pidge is truly doing him a favor. Though he’d never say it aloud. 

After so much time of not saying what he means, and doing things that don’t match what he feels, he’s ready to finally do something right. He’s prepared to go about things correctly, to let his guard down in the places where he’s forgotten to. 

He can no longer deny he misses Lance. He can no longer deny he loves him, and wants him to be his. The question is just if he’ll be let in after spending so much time shutting Lance out. But he supposes the only way to find out is if he finally comes home. 

And so he takes a deep breath, letting the ship carry him through the sea of stars and prepares to be meet with the home his heart resides in one last time.   
  


\- -

Keith finds humor in the irony of it, but when Pidge opens one of the hangar doors it’s the Red Lion’s hangar that he ends up landing in. Before Pidge comes to meet him, in the middle of the night parallel to the last time he’d visited the team, he exits his cruiser injured and off kilter. And he’s left alone with Red.

He hobbles out, boots caked in dirt and body bathed in blood and sweat after a long day of a line of work he’s still getting used to everyday. And there she is-as regal and dominating as ever. It catches him off guard, the way her lights are already alight and her particle barrier is down as if she’s been awaiting him. As if she’d predicted his arrival right down to the very second. He doesn’t bother questioning her, though. He approaches her like the symbol of familiarity she is, and crosses his arms tightly in front of his chest before sighing. 

“How am I going to get myself out of this one, Red?” he sighs, shaking his head. Keith had been through so much with his original lion, and he’d be lying if he didn’t say she was what got him through those first few months in space. He knows he wouldn’t have been able to be the paladin he was if he couldn’t count on her- to take care of him and now Lance- and he had an understanding with her that she was always one step ahead of him. For quick nosedives, for blaster shots and saving swoops, and for reassurances he needed in times of desperation. In times such as now, when he stands before her humble and feeling naked down to the bone. 

_Be honest,_ he feels Red say rather than hears, and presses his lips tightly together as he feels his eyes pool with the tears he’d been holding back every time he thought of Lance. _He has been open with you so many times his only wish is to see the same in return. He wants your truths and nothing more._

Keith doesn’t get to ask Red how to be honest after lying to himself his entire life, because sooner than later he hears Pidge enter and is tackled by her usual wiry frame. 

“If you ever go MIA again, I swear I’ll kill you,” she mumbles with dictation, but offers him a soft look of worry when he winces at her hug. “You good?” 

“Yeah, just a little roughed up from earlier. I’m good, though, promise,” he answers ruffling her hair, and she swats at his hand before frowning. 

“I’m getting major dejavu from this. Maybe you’ll listen to me this time when I ask you to get in a healing pod?” 

“How much time do I have to talk to Lance?” he asks after considering her offer for a moment. 

“Four hours?” she says after checking her handheld briefly, and he nods. 

“Thanks, Pidge,” he calls before heading in the direction of Lance’s room. 

“I’m going to assume that’s a no on the pod so good luck,” she answers, exasperated, and he gives her an awkward smile over his shoulder while wondering how to offer the whole unfiltered truth. Something he’s never truly done before.

He’s still wondering this when he reaches Lance’s room, standing there stupidly with one hand in front of the door ready to knock. But he can’t bring himself to move, as he hears ‘California King Bed’ playing loudly from behind the door and notes sweat gathered across his clammy palms. He decides to take a detour to his own quarters for a short shower and a change of bandages. Afterwards, he spends an unnecessary amount of time picking out a replacement outfit as if he owns more than a handful of garments. He even peels through his short stack of underwear with extra thought, even though they’re all of the same assortment considering he bought them as a non-variety pack of six at the space mall’s equivalent of Target. 

_What am I doing?_ he asks himself upon realizing he’s stalling, and ends up throwing on the clothes he’d never actually gotten the chance to return to Lance- a casual shirt and joggers that are a size too big for him in length. Though the clothes don’t really feel appropriate. He feels half dressed, half done. Like he’s about to propose to Lance with no ring or dive into the sea with no gear. But maybe it’s appropriate afterall; this is the way he’s come to Lance so many times- casual and simple, as if his heart wasn’t flying out of his chest every time he’s entered Lance’s room. Maybe this is who they are- uncomplicated in presentation, even if things were anything _but_ simple. 

So he settles with being comfortable, still damp and warm from his shower, and some of his latest wounds beginning to bruise or tighten. 

His throat has begun to close up, though. It feels dry as he once again gets that feeling that the words he’s looking for don’t exist, and he thinks of maybe writing them down. He thinks that perhaps if the words he wants to offer Lance are so difficult for him to say, then maybe he can write them down. It was letters that got him into the mess he was in, after all. If it was written words that could start things then maybe that could be what put his story with Lance to a neat conclusion. 

So Keith sits at his desk once again, and reminisces on the life he’s had. With Jamie, with Andre, with Ben. How all those words that he carried were ones that he’d been holding onto for so long. How they were finally going to be given away. 

\- -

The second time he stands in front of Lance’s door that night, ‘All I Wanted’ by Paramore is playing and for some reason that gives him the confidence he needs. He feels like he’s the love interest at the end of a really bad coming-of-age science fiction movie, and he’s either about to get brutally rejected or graciously accepted by the main character. Either way, he can’t deny that Paramore isn’t half bad for a soundtrack to confess your love. 

So he knocks confidently on the door, staring at the paper in his hand, and scratching at his ankle anxiously with his feet. But he doesn’t hear movement behind the door, or even hear the music pause, so he has to knock three more times. And then, when nothing comes after that, he speaks up.

“Lance? Are you awake? It’s me...Keith,” he calls, and at this the music is finally shut off, giving him the surge of confidence he requires to continue. “I-I, um, I really want to talk to you. Do you have a second? I… the last time I saw you I said some things I didn’t mean and-”

Halfway through his sentence the music is turned back up, at a higher volume than even before, and Keith realizes that Lance isn’t going to come to the door. So he tries the palm-activated lock, and to his surprise it unlocks the door. Either Lance forgot to remove his hand-print from the unlocking list or he wasn’t ready to completely shut Keith out, but either way Keith was happy to take it as a good omen. 

“Lance?” Keith calls into the dark of Lance’s room, and observes what he can with only the decorative ceiling stars as a light source. He quickly flicks on a light, and is glad to find that Lance is actually awake when the red paladin writhes in his bed and pulls a pillow over his head. “I’m sorry I don’t mean to… to intrude. I just want to tell you something and then I’ll leave.” 

Keith watches as Lance makes a grab for his phone, and switches the ongoing song to the chorus of ‘Fuck You’ by Lily Allen.

“Okay, I deserve that,” Keith sighs as he tightly grips the letter in his hand. “But if you’re gonna blast music in the middle of the night can you at least change it to something a little more appropriate?” 

Lance seems to actually consider this, then grabs his phone before switching to ‘Bad Blood’ by Taylor Swift, which is surprisingly enough to make Keith smile. 

“Lance…,” Keith says slowly, sitting at the edge of the former blue paladin’s bed and doing his best to ignore the nervous griping in his chest. He isn’t sure what to follow up with, but he knows talking to Lance is useless with Taylor playing loudly and Lance clearly pissed at him. So he does the first thing that comes to mind to at least get Lance to look at him. “I actually love this song.” 

No reply comes, as Keith suspects, and so he sets his letter aside on the bed and begins to sing along to the song. Loudly. 

Lance already had a pillow partially covering his face, but his body goes stiff at hearing Keith’s horrible warbling and covers his ears with an extra pillow. This only gives Keith the energy to sing worse, keeping perfect time with Kendrick Lamar’s rapping, until Lance can’t take it anymore and removes a pillow to shove it into Keith’s face. 

“Shut _up_! You sound like my cat before it died of pneumonia!” Lance complains before reaching past Keith with one hand to pause his music, and Keith finally sees the red paladin’s face for the first time in over a month. It’s worse than he remembers, a lot worse, as his eyes are rimmed with red and puffy underneath, while his usually full face looks hollow and pale. 

“I missed you,” Keith says without thinking, and he watches as Lance’s eyes blow wide in what he supposes is surprise. And maybe a little bit of something else.

He waits for Lance to say something, to open his mouth after the pillow is gone and it’s just Lance boring holes into Keith’s face with his eyes. It’s just Lance hovering over Keith’s face while either of them ponder over what it is that happens next. Lance is just a hair and a hot breath away, and Keith isn’t sure what to make of the lack of space. Or the fact that Lance is taking so long to move away. 

The tension is so thick Keith could cut it with his sword, and he just about panics and does the first thing he can think of to get Lance to properly move away. And, okay, maybe tickling Lance isn’t the most _mature_ answer to lightening the air in the room, but it gets Lance to smile a little bit at the very least. 

“Nice try, but I’m not ticklish,” Lance huffs. “And I’m still mad at you.” 

“You sure?” Keith asks, trying again behind Lance’s ears.

“Keith, I’m not in the mood,” Lance answers cooly, but does a miserable job at hiding an underlying smile. 

“What about here?” Keith attempts, tickling Lance in a new spot. “Or here? Or what about here?” 

Keith is glad that, as it turns out, Lance _is_ actually a bit ticklish. At least, enough so for him to start giggling and for him to forget that he’s mad at Keith for just a minute. 

“Okay, okay!” Lance says through laughs after he can’t stand the swiping at his sides any longer, and Keith finally relents when Lance has tired himself out with laughter. 

“Not ticklish, huh?” 

“Alright, fine, so maybe I’m a _little_ ticklish,” Lance admits, a smile still on his face. “But I’m still not in the mood to talk.” 

Keith watches as the red paladin adjusts his position on his bed and hugs a pillow to his chest, before feeling guilt flood his stomach. Except it’s guilt that’s always been there- erupting from his guts every time he’s reminded of all the way he’s mistreated his favorite paladin in the past, and how he still does it each day. Except it hurts even more now, because he knows he’s pushed Lance to his limit, and he doesn’t really deserve the second (or millionth) chance he’s asking for. 

“Okay, that’s fine. I just wanted to… tell you something,” Keith says, feeling his hands grow hot. He doesn’t think he’s been this nervous since the first time he told Lance something entirely untrue for the sake of his perseverance, and he saw that achingly familiar look of hurt flash across his face. It had caused young Keith to be overcome with that _something,_ and he feels it again now. But he doesn’t let his nerves get the best of him; he reaches towards the edge of the bed to grab the letter he carried in the room with him, and bites his lips nervously as he sets the slip of paper in front of Lance’s face. “This is for you.” 

The past blue paladin takes the paper with apprehension in his movements, and Keith can’t help but scratch at his neck nervously as he wonders if maybe he made the wrong move in only writing four letters as a reply. It’s just, at the time it had seemed like a good idea. All the words he’d written when he didn’t have a hold of his memories had gotten him in a world of trouble, so it made sense to him back in his room that it’d be best if he kept things short and honest. If he just got to the point. But maybe that wasn’t good enough now.

“I-L-Y-T?” Lance reads, flipping the note over as if he’s expecting there to be more written down, and Keith feels his stomach drop as he boards the usual roller coaster he’s constantly getting stuck on with Lance. 

“I found out what it means and… well I do,” he clarifies, and watches as Lance squints at him. 

“You- you what?” he questions, and Keith hates the disbelief in his voice. The incredulity in his face. 

“I-I feel the same way you do. I really really want you in my life, all the time, and-”

“You can’t even say it,” Lance laughs, sitting up and shaking his head. “You can’t even say I love you. I-God, Keith, don’t try to force it. I’m okay, I promise, you don’t have to pretend to have feelings for me. I don’t want your goddamn pity relationship.” 

“But I do! I do like you!” Keith insists, his head beginning to bang as he feels the entire situation slipping through his fingers. “I just don’t- I don’t know how to do this Lance. I've never been good with words, that’s your thing. I just know I like when you’re around and that you make me feel safe-and, God, you’re always on my mind. And I know that I wasn’t lying that night.” 

Keith feels as though he’s ran a marathon by the time he’s finished talking, and feels stripped naked under Lance’s scrutinizing eyes.

“I don’t wanna do this again. This- you’ve got a really funny sense of timing but you’re, like, a thousand days late and a dollar short. I was so crystal clear and transparent with you and now you wanna change your mind? Why now? What, did you hit your head again or something?” Lance accuses, shaking his head as Keith scrambles like eggs in a skillet, and Keith has to take deep breaths in pairs to keep himself from choking. 

“What? No! I-I just, look, I _know_ I’m late but I realized I don’t want to be away from you. Not like this. I like you so much Lance I’ve just been scared to admit it because I don’t know how to deal with this kind of feeling,” Keith rushes to explain, and watches as Lance looks at the far corner of the room instead of at him. 

“But,” he starts. “I’ve given you so many chances to say this. What the hell is different now? I-do you know how fucking _embarrassing_ it was for me to write to you everyday and for you to tell me no? You’re telling me you told me no _everyday_ but you loved me? You acted like I didn’t pour my heart out to you on paper and you expect me to believe you love me the way I love you? You never even responded, until _now_ apparently!”

“Lance, I did respond,” Keith retorts, voice low, and scratches at his wrist as he gets that bare feeling again. As it comes to him that maybe he just doesn’t have the words to convince Lance, and maybe he never will because he’s come too late. 

“No, you didn’t Keith. I think I would know if-”

Keith quickly leaps from his seat and makes his way to his room to prove to Lance what he’s been trying to tell him, what he’s been hoping he already knew all those times he slipped in his room and left by the morning. What he was hoping Lance secretly knew without verbalization everytime Keith said ‘no’ when he really meant ‘yes.’ 

He can hear Lance calling after him, so he quickly finds what he’s looking for hiding in the bottom drawer of his dresser under a pile of blankets he’s never even used. It’s a bit dusty, from not being touched or even looked at for months, but what he’s looking for is still there and he pulls it out of his drawer and quickly delivers it to the former Blue lion pilot. 

In a small box that originally held a pair of boots Shiro bought Keith about three birthdays ago, there’s an array of papers of varying sizes and colors and conditions. And they’re all wildly familiar to Keith.

“What is this?” Lance asks sharply, digging through the box. 

“They’re your letters. And my… replies,” Keith answers, running a trembling hand through his hair. 

“This is a grocery list,” Lance says, pulling out and scanning over a paper that quickly reads _‘Hey Keith! Hopefully you read this when you wake up, but I heard you’re going to the trade center with Coran while Hunk, Pidge, and I are on our mission! Can you pick me up some more toothpaste and some of those purple beef jerky bite thingies? Thanks, you’re the best! ;*’_

It’s a short note that Lance had left Keith years ago, before they were even willing to admit that they were friends, and it was so well read and loved that it was frayed and tearing at the ends. Keith could recite it by memory, down to the ugly emoticon that Lance drew. 

“I’ve kept all your letters. Even the...less important ones,” Keith explains, and Lance reads another letter. This time aloud. 

“Hey Keith, thanks for buying me a drink at that festival thing we went to today. I can’t believe it cost fifty gac, though, talk about inflation-,” Lance cuts himself off to rub at his face, and puts the letter back in the box. “This… I remember that day. Keith, that was so long ago, what the hell?” 

“I like all your letters…,” Keith voices as the man beside him picks up another one, and Keith watches a new expression fill Lance’s face as recognition floods his face. 

“Dear Keith, I’m sorry I keep writing to you about this. I’m just scared of losing you…,” Lance doesn’t finish, and instead digs through the box again to find something else to read. Something less embarrassing. 

“Look at the bottom,” Keith tells him, already knowing what he’s looking for, and Lance obeys with less hesitation than before. It doesn’t take long for Lance to find what he’s been looking for- his eyes bend into half their usual size and double in their usual perspiration- and Keith sees fear cross Lance’s face like jaywalking middle schoolers in a crosswalk. He sees something he’s never seen on Lance, and he can’t say he isn’t surprised to see it on Lance for the first time in a while. It’s that _something_ all over again.

“Can you-,” Lance begins, swallowing thickly. “Can you read it for me?” 

Lance forks over the letter, and Keith bites his lip while scanning the piece of paper that he’s never actually reread before. While he spent hours on end looking at the notes Lance left for Keith, he never really glanced at the things _he’d_ written in response more than once. His replies always came from the heart, and he didn’t like being reminded that he was too much of a coward to ever actually give them to Lance. 

“Hey Lance,” he starts. “Thank you for writing me another letter. I know I act like they annoy me, but I really like them, actually. They remind me of how thoughtful you are and how much you care about me, and it’s nice. Not that I exactly forget. It’s just nice to wake up to something under my door, even if I have to pretend that I never read the things you write. But I do. I’ve read every letter about a million times. My favorite thus far is the one you wrote today, though. I like how you like you think that there’s hope for this war and you think that we’ll be able to go home someday, and that I’ll meet your entire family and we’ll get an apartment together in Miami…”

Keith has to stop himself before continuing, because he feels hot tears streaking down his face like small streams of agony, and he has to blink away the burning tears to save himself any extra embarrassment. Except when he takes a glance at the Red lion’s pilot, he sees Lance looking at him with openly hungry eyes that are waiting in desperate anticipation, and it’s enough for him to realize that this is the time for him to be vulnerable. For him to cry without feeling shame, and for him to say things he usually can’t find the balls to admit. He sees, hiding behind Lance’s eyes in biting pupils that are so hungry for the truth, that they’re in this together and Lance has already done his part in being unfiltered and honest. Now it’s Keith’s turn at center stage. So he continues, sniffling a bit, and laughs a little at the things his past self wrote. 

“I’m not sure about the cat you said we’re going to get- I'm more of a dog person. But I guess it doesn’t matter, as long as you’re happy. And I’m sorry you’re not happy Lance. I’m sorry that I never really say what I mean, but I think this is what’s best. I don’t know how to… how to care for you the way you care for me, as much as I’d like to. I’m worried I’d be too scared to do what’s right and I’d make too many mistakes. I know it hurts every time I turn you away, but I think it’d hurt us both more if you realized that I’m not the man you want me to be.” Keith chews at the inside of his cheek before shaking his head and taking several breaths. “You almost convinced me this time, though. That we could be all the things you want us to be, and that I’d be enough. Whenever you bring up your family, and you act like I’m a McClain-Alvarez and that I belong with you and all the people you love… it makes it so hard not to cave in. I almost told you yes this time. Almost. So… I’m leaving for the Blade tomorrow, a little earlier than I’d planned, because I’m scared if I stay any longer I’ll cave in and tell you the truth. I think that if I stay any longer I’ll never be able to go.” 

There’s a few lines left- about how Keith wants Lance to take care of himself while Keith is gone, but Keith can’t read anymore, and so Lance takes the paper from Keith with a shaky hand and reads the remains himself. And then, when Keith is in full-on tears and can’t think of how to fill the air with the things that are running laps through his mind, Lance digs through the box of notes once more and reads something new. 

“Hey, Sharpshooter. Is it okay if I actually start calling you that? I said it last week as a joke but I was honestly so impressed today I think you’ve earned the title. You were so brave today and…,” Lance sniffles loudly, rubbing a hand down his face so aggressively his skin seems to shift and by the time he’s done rubbing at his eyes he realizes he can’t continue reading. 

“I don’t get it,” he says instead. “If you-if this is how you felt all this time then why didn’t you just tell me? I would’ve understood you were scared, I just wanted you to be real with me.” 

“I know I’ve been hard to love and even harder to understand.” Talk about understatement of the year. Loving Keith was about as easy as holding onto an elusive bird that was constantly trying to escape a cage that was entirely too comfortable. Keith didn’t know why Lance’s adoration made him so antsy- why he couldn’t accept the kindness and the grace for what it was. But him not having a grasp on his own feelings didn’t change the fact that those feelings were still there. “But that night on your birthday, the night before I left… that letter I wrote and everything I said was true. You make me feel safe, you remind me of everyone I’ve ever loved and more, you feel like _home_ . I was scared to be honest with you about that because I didn’t know how to deal with how I actually felt. I was scared to tell you that I’ve always felt that way because everytime I care about someone I lose them. The more I care the worse it hurts when they’re gone. And I’ve never cared about anyone _this much_ Lance.” 

Keith pulls his knees up and shakes his head, trying to bate his breaths to keep from crying and losing his nerve. “I-I never told you because I thought if I care about you this much then I’m just bound to lose you. That’s how these things always go. It’s, like, if I want you this much then somebody’s bound to get hurt and I figured that it’d be the both of us.”

“Then what changed?” Lance presses, running a hand through his hair. “Why’d you change your mind? Why are you telling me this _now_ when I’ve already began trying to get over you and not-” Lance pauses to cough on his own wet sobs when his voice cracks, and he presses his lips thinly together before deciding to endure the lump in his throat for the sake of getting his point across. “Why not all the times I put my heart on my sleeve for you and-and gave you everything I had. I’m _tired_ , Keith, and I… I don’t know what to believe at this point.” 

Keith blinks quickly and wrings his hands together, trying to think of how to put his thoughts into words. How to show Lance what he thinks, what he feels, what hurts him and what’s real.

“I always bit my tongue about this and said the opposite of what I felt becuase I’m a fucking coward, Lance. I was hiding behind the lie that I was doing you a favor, I guess. I thought that if I showed you who I am under all this fucking _pushing_ and pretending then you’d be hurt after realizing that I’m not the person you deserve; you deserve so much better, God.” Keith wishes he could stop crying. He wishes he could get himself together so that he could just get the words out, so that he could do what Lance has done for him so many times. He wishes that Lance would stop giving him that _look_ that was nipping at his heart. “But after being away from you, after Kolivan told me I wasn’t allowed to visit the castle anymore, I realized I’d already lost you. I had already hurt you and I hurt myself in the process and I was missing you before you were even truly gone. And then being alone at that goddamn base without even being able to so much as text you I...”

Keith isn’t able to put it into words, and for once he doesn’t have to. For once, Lance sees past his barriers and Keith sees past Lance’s. He sees the walls slowly crumble and meet the floor as he unguards his heart for Keith one last time, and the former black paladin decides that he isn’t going to take it for granted this time. 

Lance slowly reaches for Keith, and it takes all the willpower he has to bite back on his instincts of wrenching away. He’s not used to the touch, but after a second- when Lance rests his hand on the sides of his face, and a long caramel colored thumb runs across the apple of his left cheek- he comes to the conclusion that it’s okay. He melts into the touch and he sees, finally, that it’s not Lance that he has to be scared of. That it’s not love he has to be afraid of. He sees that even though he feels caught defenseless in headlights, it’s not the red paladin that’s behind the wheel. It’s Keith and Lance against the world, and he isn’t going to get through his time in space as someone that’s more human than soldier without Lance. Maybe he can, if he really tried, but he doesn’t want to. 

“You love me?” Lance questions, his eyebrows so deeply furrowed they’re like waves that don’t push or pull. They just sit on his face wrinkled, waiting to tuck in sand that isn’t there. 

Keith still isn’t sure how to say it, so he just nods, and that seems to be enough. At least for now. Lance moves his arms to wrap them around Keith’s neck and pull him in a tight hug, burying his face in his shoulder. 

“I’m sorry,” Keith says. “I’m sorry it took me so long. I didn’t mean to make you wait. I… thought you’d just give up on me like everybody else.” 

Lance lifts his head before looking into Keith’s eyes, and Keith sees that there’s something new in Lance that he doesn’t recognize. 

“What?” Keith asks, unable to wait for Lance to speak up. 

“I told you I’d wait forever and I meant that,” Lance shrugs before hugging Keith tightly again, pulling him down next to him on his mattress and Keith tries not to wince too hard when Lance grapples at his still aching side. 

“What’s wrong?” Lance questions, apparently being too keen on all of Keith’s movement, and the former leader shakes his head. 

“Nothing, I’m good,” he lies. 

“You have a very clear lying problem. Seriously, what’s up?” Lance insists, and when Keith doesn’t immediately resign he takes the opportunity to reach under Keith’s shirt to tickle at his abdomen, only to come across a bandaged torso instead. 

“Lance…,” Keith frowns, writhing away, and Lance matches his expression.

“Tough week, huh?” he questions. Keith isn’t sure how to respond, and Lance scoots closer to the Blade spy in front of him before sighing and lifting the edge of his own shirt. “At least we match, though, right?” 

Keith finally looks up to see Lance, a fresh scar of his own, and doesn’t even think twice before running a hand over the rippling skin of where he assumes Lance must’ve been recently burned. Likely even worse than the healing pod could fully aid. Lance takes Keith's hand after a second, recovering his scar with his shirt and getting a determined look on his face that never really means anything good for Keith. 

“Can we promise to be honest with each other from now on? I’m… I don’t want you to feel like you can’t tell me things. Because you can, you know.” 

“I know,” Keith admits. It’s Lance’s good intentions that scares him, really. It’s easy to shut out people who you know are only mean trouble, but how is he to respond to an overly eager person who adores him so unconditionally and without remorse? 

“So promise?” Lance prods, picking up one of Keith’s hands gingerly, and he smiles in response. 

“Pinky promise,” Keith responds, holding up a stray pinky finger, and Lance wraps his finger around his in response just as he hoped. What he doesn’t expect, though, is when Lance decides to make the move of interlocking the rest of his hand with Keith’s to fully intertwine their fingers, and then presses his lips to Keith’s bruised knuckles. 

“You’re so fucking corny,” Keith laughs nervously after a second, unsure of how to respond to the gesture.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, I’m _smooth,”_ Lance answers with a shrug and laying back down in his bed, his eyes blinking slowly. “You’re the corny one. Need I remind you you’re the one that kept my notes and grocery lists from, like, _four_ years ago?” 

“I’ve liked you for a really long time, okay?” Keith defends, and feels a new softness poking at his features when Lance chuckles. “Besides, you’re the one who _wrote_ all those notes and letters to me.”

“And you responded,” Lance giggles, looking up at Keith idly with a smile he can’t seem to wipe away. “But never actually gave your replies to me, like some sort of shoujo manga protagonist or something. So I think you definitely win in the corny department.” 

Keith laughs for a second, resting his hand in the soft curls of Lance’s hair and appreciating the moment for what it is. He makes the most of the quiet, and drinks in the feeling of finally having that extra weight off of his shoulders. 

“You look like shit…,” Lance tells him seemingly out of nowhere, and Keith rolls his eyes while Lance looks at him intensely. “Seriously. You should probably rest in a pod for a little while. I’ll still be here.” 

Keith appreciates the sentiment, but when he takes a quick look at Lance’s digital clock he sees that he only has two hours before he has to leave, and shakes his head. 

“Nah, I’m good,” he answers, resting beside Lance and wrapping his arms under his, careful to avoid skin that’s still healing. “I only have two hours with you before my next mission and I want to spend all the time I can with you.” 

At this Lance goes quiet, and nestles himself comfortably against Keith quietly before closing his eyes. Keith thinks that maybe Lance is actually on his way to falling asleep, and he’d be lying if he didn’t say he wasn’t as well. So he coughs up one of his admissions, something that’s pricked at him since he was still but an out of place high schooler, and offers it to the man settled beside him before he can change his mind. 

“I’m sorry… for pretending not to remember you,” he says, and nearly bites his tongue at how quickly Lance flashes his eyes open to look at him. 

“Huh?” 

“Truth moment?” Keith asks for permission to open this boiling can of buried truths and burden, and Lance nods. “That night when we first found Shiro back at the Garrison, I pretended I didn’t remember you. But I did. I guess I sort of panicked because I wasn’t expecting to see you, and I didn’t know how to apologize for all the things I said before I left so I just… acted like I didn’t remember. But I do. I remember all of it.” 

Lance blinks at the speed of light, at rates that should probably cause his eyelashes to pick up wind, and Keith braces himself for anger that he assumes he deserves. But it never comes. 

“Really? You- so- wow… I thought you really forgot about me,” Lance laughs. 

“No way.” Keith shakes his head. “I never told you, but you meant so much to me at that point. I felt so lonely after Shiro left but you made it a lot easier… as always. I’m sorry I told you you didn’t matter to me before I dropped out of the Garrison, I guess I just wanted you to hate me so it’d be easier to leave…” 

“So you… remember all the times I tripped you in Biology? And when I dumped ice down your jacket? Or that one time when I tried to cut your hair and ended up stabbing you in the ear?” Lance questions with all the solemnity he can muster, and Keith can’t help but laugh.

“Yes, I do. And thanks for the free character development by the way.” Keith reaches behind his ear to touch at the small scar that’s there from his freshman year before sighing. “But that’s not the point. I mean, it is, but the things I remember the _most_ are all the things you did that made the Garrison suck a little less. Like when you and Hunk snuck me in the Home Ec room at night and we made cookies, or when you took me out for karaoke when we got a B on our Astronomy project, even though I was mad we didn’t get a better grade.”

“Technically it was _your_ treat since I forgot my wallet at home,” Lance corrects, and Keith shoves him in the shoulder.

“ _Whatever._ I just-I wanted you to know that I haven’t forgotten all the things you did for me when it mattered the most. You’ve been there for me both of the times Shiro’s left and, well, I appreciate that. You deserve to _know_ I appreciate that. I’m just sorry it took so long for me to tell you.” It takes a minute for Keith to get his bearings following this, especially from the way Lance is looking at him with his eyes sparkling. 

“Thank you,” the blue soldier answers, and Keith doesn’t flinch or move when Lance plants a kiss on his forehead and then rests his head atop his. He breathes in Lance’s usual scent of cinnamon and citrus, now mixed with the salty taste of tears, and actually closes his eyes ready to stay like this for as long as he can. 

Until Lance flips over, his shoulders hunched, and Keith watches his back curiously. 

“Truth moment?” Lance whispers, and Keith reaches over the red paladin to search for his hand.

“What is it?” he questions when he finally has a hold on skinny twisting fingers, and when Lance doesn’t say anything upon his own initiative. 

“I… If I’m being honest, I don’t feel like any of this is real. Like, you’re saying all these things right now and I feel happy but I don’t know. It feels like you aren’t going to feel like this tomorrow or the day after that. Like, the last time you said all of this… the last time I thought _maybe_ my feelings were actually returned they weren’t. I feel like I did when you lost your memories- like some part of this is actually happening but you’re just going to come to your senses any moment now and you won’t still feel this way.” 

Keith presses his forehead to the space between Lance’s shoulder blades and tries his best to emanate everything that he’s feeling off of him. He makes an effort to ball up the pressure and ache that Lance holds, and to replace it with Keith’s atonement. He hopes that maybe if he presses himself close enough, and holds his hand tightly enough, Lance will start to feel the things that Keith has been feeling everyday for years. 

“It’s not that I liked you one day and didn’t the next. I’ve felt this way since we were kids; consistently. It’s just, some days I was more honest than others. But I’ve already promised to be honest with you. I’m going to feel this way about you for as long as I know you, Lance. And I’ll remind you everyday because you deserve to know. That’s not gonna change.” Keith’s throat feels clogged by the time he’s wrapped up his miniature speech, and he doesn’t think there’s a plunger in the universe for this type of word diarrhea. 

“Why?” Lance asks, and Keith doesn’t need to elaborate on this for him to understand Lance’s questioning. 

“Truth moment?” he says, without actually waiting for Lance to tell him to continue because he can’t bother hesitating. If he stops, even for a moment to think, he’s sure he might jump ship and chicken out of saying what he’s been meaning to say all night. Maybe longer. “I love you.”

Keith doesn’t mean to let the words slip from his mouth, he really doesn’t. For such a long time he’s been telling himself that those words weren’t really meant to come out of his mouth, and he remembers that fact as soon as he says it. But the admission flies straight from his brain to his tongue so fast that it slips out at lightning speed. Slippery like socks on tile or butter on a non-stick pan, sliding so quick that Keith doesn’t get a chance to bite down on the thought. On the hunger, on the pain, on the longing. 

So before he knows it, before he gets a chance to recognize his faults or error, the words are gone and no longer his. They’re Lance’s now and he knows, from the way Lance’s body fills with that something so quickly that he’ll hold onto those words forever. He’ll cherish them like a picture in his wallet or an heirloom that hangs on a gold chain, because Keith sees right in front of him his words settle in Lance’s heart comfortably. Like they were made to be there from the start. Like they were always Lance’s to begin with. 

And Keith wonders, not for the first time, if maybe all of him is Lance’s. Not just his confession, not just his love; but his desires and his aches and his joys as well. He thinks that the answer to that is probably a weighted yes. He just hopes Lance will want these things from him. Because he’s been ready, for longer than he’ll admit, to give himself away.

The way that Lance’s hand in his goes slack is immediate; every part of him goes taut and loose at the same time, like some fixture that bends and tightens wildly in odd places. Keith waits patiently, unsure of what to make of all of this change in Lance’s stature, until Lance is turning over to sit up by his elbow and look down over at Keith. 

Keith can’t stand the anticipation, already knowing what the gears turning in Lance’s head are mulling over because for the first time in a while they’re reading the same verse of the same chapter to a poem that’s turning into a song Keith’s heart has been learning to sing. And their lips finally meet. 

Keith doesn’t know how long the kiss lasts, but it's long enough for his entire face to go cherry red and for Lance to get a goofy grin by the time they’re separated, his chocolate irises just a tiny ring around his blown wide pupils. There’s quiet, neither of them even _thinking_ of speaking, for a minute while they both try to go from ‘ _holy shit I just kissed my crush’_ to ‘ _okay, this is fine.’_ Lance rests his head on Keith’s chest, and Keith does his best to get his heart to calm down a little bit. 

“That was lit,” Lance murmurs against Keith, and the words are so unexpected they both laugh until Lance has simmered down enough to to sit up again. “Sorry, I’m just… nervous, I guess. I wasn’t expecting you to say that, I know it’s really hard for you.” 

“It’s alright, this is new for me, too. It’ll take a while for me to get used to this whole… us thing.”

“Not me,” Lance says after planting a kiss to Keith’s forehead and resting on his shoulder, eyes closed and a satisfied smile coined across his lips. “Loving you is easy.”

“Since when?” Keith prods in disbelief. 

“Since always. That’s why I was able to wait so long.” 

“Hm…,” Keith thinks aloud, watching as Lance yawns and nuzzles his face against his shoulder blade. “Well, I love you, too.” 

“I love you more.” Lance grins widely, his voice dripping at the end. 

“I loved you first,” Keith answers quickly, causing Lance to pop an eye open. “F-Y-I, B-T-W.”

“That’s not how text talk works!” Lance retorts, knowing that he can’t argue with the first half of Keith’s sentence. He stares for a while, nostrils flaring and lips pressed tightly together, and Keith wonders what is that he’s thinking of. “I wish you could stay. That we could be like this all the time.” 

“Me too,” Keith answers. “Every time I’m with you I get this… this weird _something_ feeling all over and I-I don’t know it’s nice I guess. It’s like being hugged by someone really tightly or coming home for the first time in a really long while.” 

The former paladin wonders if maybe he’s said too much, before eventually coming to the conclusion that maybe there’s nothing he can’t tell Lance, because the red pilot hums and nods in understanding after a few thoughtful seconds. 

“I get that feeling, too,” Lance replies. 

“Yeah?”

“Mhm. That’s the feeling that lets me know I love you,” Lance says casually as if he hasn’t just answered a question that Keith has been sitting on for forever. 

“Then I guess I’ve loved you for longer than I thought.”

Lance sweeps a hand through Keith’s fringe for the second or time that night, and lets his hand rest there before smiling tiredly. “Can we read another one of your letters?”

It takes some coaxing, but eventually Lance is able to convince Keith that reading a letter together won’t be _too_ embarrassing, as long as Lance picks out one that’s more recent. Apparently the older they are the worse they get, and Lance seems to have some understanding in that. 

“This one has a date on it… about two months ago,” Lance informs after going through the box for a few minutes and pulling out a note on a decorated sheet of paper. “Do you wanna read it?’

Keith shakes his head fiercely, eyebrows pinched, and Lance chuckles before starting. 

“Hey, Sharpshooter. Happy birthday! Well, early birthday I guess. Your birthday is still like a month or so away but God I’m so excited. I can’t believe you’re going to be twenty-one. Now Shiro will finally stop giving me weird looks every time I slip you some nunvill from Coran’s secret stash,” Lance laughs. “And I think you’re really going to like your presents. I usually never know what to get you, but Hunk has been teaching me how to sew and I started this quilt you’ll like. And Hunk is making this really nice sweater with this super material he picked up at one of the Ulu shops, so now we sew and crochet together and just talk about what to do for your birthday and it’s… nice. I’m glad you have someone like him when I’m not around.” 

Lance pauses to smile into his palm, and Lance has to suppress a scream in his hand before going forward. 

“Matt taught me how to make firecrackers out of gunpowder and Coran also told me where to find this really nice bench jeweler is in a local solar system that I’m going to go to in hopes that he can make a ring of the diamond I was finally able to extract a few weeks ago. Is a ring too much? I don’t know I guess I just want you to have something to always hold onto when I’m not around. I think that’s called a promise ring? So you always have something even when I’m not around. I guess that’s dumb, but I hope you like it anyway. 

“I’m not sure how to present a ring to you but… I’ve been thinking of maybe telling you how I feel on your birthday. I think I should, I think I _could_ , but I’m scared. Sometimes I wonder if you even still love me, or if you’d still love me if I told you that I love you, too. Like maybe you only like me because I’m another challenge for you and you never really…,” 

Lance cuts off from reading, and Keith wishes he hadn’t because he isn’t ready for Lance to look up at him. Not when he’s sure he looks like a mess with tear streaks running down his face and his cheeks burning bright. 

“You’re not another challenge,” Lance says, followed by a kiss to accentuate his point. 

“I know. But… I don’t think I want to hear anymore, if that’s okay,” Keith answers, undeniably embarrassed.

“That’s fine. I’m tired anyway,” Lance answers, placing the letter back in the box and then setting it away on his nightstand. Then, when he’s beside Keith again and has gotten Keith to unbury him out of his covers, he adds on, “I like the ring, by the way. It’s not too much. But I _am_ more of a necklace guy.” 

Lance reveals a chain from under his shirt, hanging around his neck, that holds the pearl from the Junnigee. And added to that chain Lance seems to have managed to fasten the ring on it as well, so that the pearl and diamond hang side by side as one piece rather than two different ideas. 

Keith presses his face against the paladin’s chest, over where the chain hangs after Lance his tucked it away once more, and feels a smile etching into his features without his permission. Lance seems satisfied with this development, and eases up a bit before reaching past his soulmate to grab for his phone. 

“I like to listen to music before going to sleep, is there anything you wanna hear?” 

“Surprise me,” Keith answers, and Lance decides to give a go at a random playlist he made with the new iTunes account Pidge downloaded with songs for him. After pressing play on his handheld, Keith lets Lance saddle up by his side and closes his eyes for the first time in a minute. He doesn’t think the moment can get any more perfect until he hears a song he too easily recognizes, and presses his forehead to Lance’s shoulder. “It’s our song.” 

“‘Little Lies’ is our song? This is _Hunk’s_ favorite song, not mine,” Lance snorts into Keith’s hair, and he shrugs.

“It’s the song you played when you taught me how to be less angry back at the Garrison. That’s when I first started to realize you were… special, I guess,” he explains quietly, and Lance seems to agree quietly before he feels a smile press into his hair. 

“Wanna hear my new favorite song? I found it yesterday…” 

Lance doesn’t really wait for Keith to properly answer, and soon the song is changing to something with a different beat but a similar tune. 

_Wake me up, when the days are over… reminiscing of a life I had._

Keith isn’t sure at which point Lance actually falls asleep, but he feels the pressure of Lance cuddling against him grow heavy and his breathing against his skin go even, and he knows the paladin he’s so in love with has gone under for the night. 

The song transitions into something slower, and he doesn’t bother turning the music off in turn for listening to the symphony accompany Lance’s steady heartbeat. He enjoys the sound, helping him feel safer than he thinks he has years, and that’s how he goes to sleep- knowing that he gets to do this again at some point, knowing that he’s allowed to feel this way without any guilt or shame or pressure to pull away. 

He’s grateful for all the people he’s loved leading up to that point, because he supposes they helped prepare him for this exact moment. Helped lead him up to reaching that feeling of _something_ once more, and finally being able to identify it as love. It’s enough for Keith Kogane to want to hang on and never let ago. Enough for him to want to press a kiss to Lance’s cheeks and temples, nose, and lips. Enough for him to want to hold on until there’s nothing left, until their time together is up and long after then. 

\- -

And so in the morning he’s still there. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Keith: Adam?  
> Shiro: ... I hope I don’t sound ridiculous but idk who that man is. He could be walking down the street and I wouldn’t know a thing. Sorry to this man. 
> 
> No but I’m just imaging Haggar in clone Shiro’s head just going “who tf is Adam?” trying to figure it out like in that episode of Spongebob when he forgot his name and that’s so fvcking funny to me (If I’m not making sense ignore me ADDFFFDSF)
> 
> But that’s the end! I hope you guys liked it, omg? I was debating with myself about writing an epilogue but I think I just want to end things here until further notice. Although I may change things up a bit in some places, so don’t be surprised if you reread this one day and it’s different... or smth. Idk, I just feel like I made Lance really pushy and didn’t make Keith seem sincere enough? Like I kinda wanted Keith to have this huge moment of realization or to do big gesture but it never really comes? At least not in this fic (hints for part two maybe??? Lol)  
> But yeah, sorry if Keith seems whiny or Lance comes off as overbearing. I just wanted to lean into that “annoying” side we see from Lance in the show, because I feel like that would make him REALLY passionate when he actually loves someone. And like- I feel like atp Keith definitely has PTSD from his childhood, let alone his time as a soldier, which made him really closed off. So I hope that translated well! And didn’t make the way I characterized them weird/annoying! 
> 
> See you on the flip side to everyone who’s gotten this far. I appreciate everyone who’s read even a chapter of this, let alone to the end, because damn that’s 100k words of my shitty writing? That’s wild to me! but super frigging sweet and I adore every single one of you, I can’t express how happy it makes me that at least one person enjoyed this fic! And I’ll def have part two up some time in November, and you can expect that YouTuber/high school at as well! (Don’t ask me when though, because idk if I’m going to write the au fic and part two to this simultaneously or one after the after)
> 
> Bye for now! Stream positions by Ari and have a good day! <333

**Author's Note:**

> Follow or message me on tumblr @hearttpoem. Thank you for reading!


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